In Honor of Edmond
by OneHour2Write
Summary: In Honor of Edmond is a 12 chaptered CSI fanfiction, written collaboratively by the members of this community. A challenge was issued 3 weeks ago, and 11 authors came together, each writing a chapter from a distinct viewpoint.
1. Introduction

_In Honor of Edmond_ is a 12 chaptered CSI fanfiction, written collaboratively by the members of this community. A challenge was issued 3 weeks ago, and 11 authors came together, each writing a chapter from a distinct viewpoint, and one brave soul editing them together.

The Edmond is Edmond Locard, the famous pioneer of forensic science. In the story, Grissom organizes a scavenger hunt to honor Locard. Each chapter comes from a different author, as well as a different CSI team member's point of view.

This story is rated **Teen**, and contains spoilers through **Season 6**. As a group, we'd like to thank **velocityofsound** because she has great legs (and worked her butt off, bending over backwards to help us out with this), and the incomparable Mingsmommy for taking all of the chapters and making them mesh.

The Authors and their contributions are as follows:

Introduction – CSIClue

Chapter One: Brass – dragonlord1776

Chapter Two: Warrick - AussiRayne

Chapter Three: Catherine - Smacky30

Chapter Four: Nick – Kristen Elizabeth

Chapter Five: Archie - LosingInTranslation

Chapter Six: Greg - jenbachand

Chapter Seven: Hodges - geeklove4eva

Chapter Eight: Super Dave - Tos-Lover1

Chapter Nine: Sara - plkphoto

Chapter Ten: Grissom – Cropper

Finale - CSIClue

We hope that you have enjoyed this little experiment in group writing. We'd love to hear from you, so please feel free to leave us a comment. Thank you for taking the time to read this project and have a great day!

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_**CSIClue**_ _starts the team on Grissom's excellent Edmondian adventure. _

As they waited for assignments in the break room Sara was the one who noticed the circled date and notation on the calendar; she lightly tapped the page, ignoring the Far Side cartoon above it and mused aloud.

"Um, guys? We've got something on the calendar for today. E. L. Looks like Grissom's printing. Evaluations maybe? Evaluation levels?"

"Nope. We're staggered through April this year," Nick replied, not glancing up from the issue of _Sports Illustrated _he was thumbing through. Warrick came over to look past Sara's shoulder. She flashed a grin up at him that he returned before studying the calendar himself.

"E.L. Could stand for Evaluation Levels. Or Evie Lowenthal," he rumbled.

"Or Elvis lives," Greg offered from his lounge point in the chair opposite of Nick. This brought a snort from Warrick and an eyeroll from Catherine, who was cleaning out her purse near the trash can. She carefully dropped old receipts and gum wrappers out as she spoke.

"This is Grissom. Think outside the box. WAAAAAY outside the box."

"Who's Evie Lowenthal?" Sara demanded of Warrick, who merely smiled knowingly and rubbed his chin.

"Oh hey, wasn't she the one with the snake?" Nick piped up, finally setting his magazine down and shooting a grin across the room. Warrick still said nothing and Nick continued. "Fifteen feet of boa and a G-string—"

"Live boa, not feather, and yeah, she was WORTH noting on a calendar," Warrick replied with a knowing smile. Irritated, Sara rolled her eyes at this masculine aside and glanced at Catherine, who was equally unamused.

"I don't think Grissom would stick Evie on the calendar."

"While she was fairly intriguing both as a herpetologist AND an ecdysiast, no," Grissom announced from the doorway. Everyone glanced at him in surprise; Sara caught the full charm of his smirk.

He came into the break room and looked around at the assembled group. "The initials on the calendar belong to one of the founding fathers of our profession, Edmond Locard, and it seems only right to observe his one hundred and thirty-first birthday with a little exercise in evidence collection."

"Observe it as in, how?" Greg wanted to know. "Dust a cake for prints?"

"Yeah, well if you find hairs or other trace, I'm not eating any," Catherine snapped.

Sara grinned and kept her gaze on Grissom, who had produced several envelopes from the pocket of his jacket. He held them up enticingly, and his smile held mystery. "I propose—a scavenger hunt."

This brought several groans, albeit of a good-natured variety. Warrick shook his head. "Griss, you know we already have enough to do in the course of a night without going on any wild goose chases, even in the name of Locard."

"Did I mention there's a prize?" Grissom added, cocking his head slightly. The room fell silent; Nick had set down his magazine, and Sara noted that even Greg was paying attention.

Catherine put her hands on her hips. "I'll bite—what's the prize?"

"An extra three days of vacation for the competitors who manage to bring in the two items listed in each of these envelopes."

The array of emotions across the assembled faces ranged from delight to deep suspicion. Sara spoke up quickly. "Is that just for the first one in, or is it for anyone who completes the hunt?"

"It is for everyone who completes the hunt. You have this shift, and this shift _only_ to collect the items. If you succeed, you win—simple as that. But there _are_ rules," Grissom replied calmly. "And if you break them, then you're disqualified."

"What are the rules?" Catherine demanded. Grissom shook his head. He pulled a piece of paper out from the assignment clipboard under his other arm and began to write.

"Competitors first—if you're in this, there's no teaming up, and that includes using people in the lab who aren't part of the Hunt. I need to know who's signing up."

The assembled group looked around and slowly Nick stretched and came up. He took the pen from Grissom and grinned as he signed his name. "Three extra days of vacation sound mighty good to me. Worth huntin' down whatever trinkets you've got listed in those envelopes anyway."

"Yeah, I'll play too," Warrick agreed, to be followed by Greg and Sara, who shot Grissom a lovely smirk. Catherine picked up the paper and looked over the names.

She glanced at Grissom. "_You're_ competing too, right?" When he hesitated, she added, "Because I'm betting you can't beat the rest of us."

Grissom shot a quick glance around the room, and the smirks he saw were enough to make him purse his mouth slightly. "Is that what you think?"

"It's what we'd like to try and prove," Greg admitted honestly. Grissom lifted his chin and took the pen, signing his own name on the list.

"Fair enough. All right, the rules are simple: Number one, you cannot buy any of the items on the list. You may trade, borrow, rent them, but they cannot be purchased. Number two, you must obtain the items yourself—no asking someone else to get them for you. Number three, no substitutions—A scoop of Seattle's Best coffee is not a scoop of Starbuck's coffee."

"Amen to that," Greg muttered. Grissom shot him a quelling look and continued.

"All items will be registered with Judy, who will log them in with time and person. This brings us to the discretionary clause."

"Discretionary clause?" Catherine echoed.

"Meaning you didn't get official permission from Ecklie for this game, did you?" Sara murmured, eying Grissom with quiet amusement.

He went slightly pink. "Conrad has always been less than enthusiastic about extraneous activities in the line of duty," came the concession.

"All the more reason _your_ butt needs to be on the line with us," Catherine told him firmly. "If we go down, we go down as a group, Fearless Leader."

A cough from the doorway caught everyone's attention; Archie, Hodges, Dave and Brass were standing there, each of them looking interested.

Grissom sighed. "The grapevine has picked up speed over the years."

"Three days is three days," Brass responded. "Vacation being the gold standard around here. So what's the deal? Can anyone get in on this goose chase?"

A quick look around the break room, and Grissom gave a reluctant nod, his gaze lingering sharply on Hodges. "All right, but we're holding it to this group of ten and no more." He reiterated the rules for the last four players, and glanced around. "Any questions?"

There didn't seem to be any, and Grissom gave a nod. Carefully he laid out the sealed envelopes on the table. They were numbered from one to ten; Grissom re-pocketed two others as everyone gathered around.

"Take your pick," Grissom offered.

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	2. Chapter One: Brass

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_**dragonlord1776 **__helps Brass, our favorite detective detect the items he needs._

"Aren't you going to have to talk to Ecklie to get the winner three more days of vacation?" Brass asked as he took his envelope. "Or are you giving us some of your vacation days?"

"All will be revealed." Grissom explained with a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Now, everyone not on my team, go back to work, and good luck finding your items," Grissom finished as he put his glasses on and proceeded to look down at the assignments he was about to hand out.

"Yes, Mother," Brass mumbled as he headed to his office where a mound of work was waiting for him.

Brass sat down to open his envelope of items.

"A piece of cactus. That can't be too hard here in the desert," Brass chuckled to himself and then he froze when he read the second one. "Yeah, that's gonna happen," he finished as he grabbed his assignments for the day and headed out of his office.

Brass soon arrived at the Silver Bell Wedding Chapel with Officer Mitchell.

"Apparently, the groom is missing." Mitchell read from his notepad.

"Are you sure he's not just late? Where's the bride?" Brass asked looking around the front of the chapel because the door was open.

"Inside," Mitchell replied as he started to walk into the chapel.

Brass just blinked for a few seconds after he followed Mitchell inside.

There was a bride, a priest, and of all things, a horse. The bride was sitting on the horse that was munching on a prickly pear cactus that was to the left of the altar.

Brass walked to stand in front of the horse so that he could look up at the bride, "Can you tell me what happened here Miss?" he asked while taking out his pen and pad.

"Palmer. Melanie Palmer. And, yes I can," she replied as she patted the horse's neck. "Well, the wedding was scheduled for 5PM and I came early and found a note on the saddle. It said 'I'll be a little late,' but it been almost five hours now. That's why I called the police."

"Were you and the groom having any problems we should know about Ms. Palmer?" Brass asked calmly.

Why did he always get these cases? The newbies in town or the vacationers, he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"No, we're in love…" Melanie began, but was interrupted by a knock at the side door.

Brass turned and the door burst opened with two men on a white horse.

Brass' jaw dropped for a second until he saw the gun the second man was holding to the groom's head.

Brass shifted around to the side of the bride's horse and back to Mitchell's side.

"You know, I would make a knight in shining armor joke, but some how I think it would fall flat at this moment," Brass whispered to Mitchell as he signaled for him to get his gun out while Brass moved to the other side of the Melanie's horse with his hands up.

He wanted to talk the guy down.

"Sir, why don't you put the gun down," Brass motioned for the priest to get behind him.

"I'm not doing a thing, cop. I'm marrying Melanie. I love her. And I know she loves me, not this bean counter," the man shouted tapping the tip of the gun against the groom's head.

"Come on, we can talk this out," Brass smiled hoping to put the shooter at ease.

"The only way this is working," the man said as he shifted his horse closer to Melanie, "is if she marries me right now. You, Priest," the man continued with authority, "get up there." He waved his gun toward the altar.

"Oh, Aaron. It's been over for months and you know it," Melanie yelled at him nudging her horse so that she was closer to his face.

"I know it's not, because Mickey here can't satisfy you like I can," Aaron said with a lascivious glance at Melanie's ample cleavage.

"He may have a point," Brass whispered to the priest. Aaron looked to be at least 6'5'' and he was all muscle and Brass was pretty sure that he could squash Mikey like a fruit fly.

"He satisfies me," Melanie said with a slight hitch in her voice. She tried to hide her glance at the muscles on Aaron's arms as he shifted his hold on the reins.

"Oh, really, then why are you drooling all over me," Aaron replied.

"Hey," Mickey squawked from his position on the horse. "You…you stay away from her," he stuttered.

"You shut up," Aaron stabbed him with the gun again. "Mel and I are negotiating, so pipe down." He leaned closer to Melanie.

Preparing to speak, Brass stopped when a noise caught his attention. It was the horse munching on the cactus again. Suddenly an idea formed in his mind.

"Act normal," Brass whispered to the priest as he inched toward the cactus plant.

Brass snuck around Melanie's horse and carefully pulled a chunk off and continued to move around until he was behind the horses near Officer Mitchell.

"Cover me," he whispered as he moved around so that he was behind Aaron, who was missing everything because he and Melanie were so caught up in arguing over Mickey.

Brass moved quickly and quietly so that he was right behind Aaron's raised butt. Brass placed the cactus on the saddle, backed away, and took out his gun.

"Hey, Aaron, you're under arrest," Brass said loudly.

Aaron turned in shock and promptly sat on the cactus Brass had placed on the saddle.

"Shittttttttttt," he shouted as he fell forward onto Mickey. They both tumbled to the ground in a pile of legs and arms.

The horses were about to bolt but the priest stopped them with a loud, obviously practiced command whistle.

"Have to do that a lot?" asked Brass with a smirk on his face as he looked down at the now arguing two men.

"You've no idea," the priest replied with a smile.

Mitchell had quickly moved to stand over the two the men to make sure they did not get away.

"Like I said you're under arrest," Brass repeated walking smoothly over to them now, "So get up and you have the right to remain silent…" Brass continued.

"Wait," Melanie said as she got off of her horse with ease, "No one is leaving until I get married," she finished, with a stamp of her left heel, as she came to stand in front of Brass.

Brass rolled his eyes, "Fine, which one?" he asked pointing gun at Mickey and then at Aaron.

"Aaron, of course," Melanie said barely able to hide her excitement, "Sorry, Mickey," she continued as she grabbed Aaron's hand and pulled him up to the altar.

"Vegas," Brass grumbled, rolling his eyes, as he waited patiently while the couple got hitched and then he took Aaron to the station to be booked for brandishing a firearm and disturbing the peace.

Before he left he carefully wrapped a napkin around the piece of cactus that had solved the case and kindly asked the priest, "You mind if I keep this, as a souvenir?"

"It's all yours, detective and thank you," the priest replied with a gentle smile, as he took the horses back to their stable.

After the first part of shift, Brass stopped for a quick meal and then moved on to an arson incident at a local diner. Apparently an Elvis cape had started a small fire.

"Why do people always target the Elvis impersonators?" Brass asked Mitchell as they passed under the tape.

The damage had already been inspected, but Brass and Mitchell still had to get statements from the witnesses.

"The waitress standing over there pretty much saw everything that happened," Mitchell explained as he angled his head behind him near the front door of the diner. "I'm going to interview the rest of the patrons," Mitchell finished as he headed over to the opposite corner of the crime scene.

Brass approached the woman who looked to be around his age.

"Ma'am, LVPD," Brass began. "I'm going to need your explanation of what happened here, but first I need your name and contact information," he finished.

"Oh, sure," the woman said straightening from where she had been slouching against the diner's wall. "I'm Jessica Roberson," she began and then gave Brass her phone number.

"Thank you," Brass said scribbling the information down. "Now could you tell me what happened?" he finished.

"Well, Ben…" Jessica started and then paused, rubbing her ear, as she collected her thoughts, "Ben was having his usual steak and fries, when the Elvis guy came storming up to him. He seemed to be boasting about money and scholarships. They went at it for a minute or two before the manager went over to send them outside." She paused to catch her breath and noticed Brass gently tapping his pen against his notepad. "Ben and the guy kept arguing all the way to the back door…well, they were pushing and shoving each other and one thing lead to another…the guy's cape caught fire. Good thing Ben had good reflexes, but he ran out of here like no tomorrow before we could thank him…" she trailed off playing with a long lock of her auburn hair.

"Did you know the other man? Had you ever seen him before?" Brass asked jotting down some notes.

"No, but it seemed like they knew each other," the waitress said looking Brass in the eye.

"And the manager was able to keep this Elvis calm until the paramedics arrived?" Brass asked wanting to confirm what the arriving officer had reported.

"Yes, it wasn't very hard. He was really shook up," Jessica replied.

"How do you know Ben?" Brass asked tapping his pen against his notepad again.

"Oh, well, he comes into the diner all the time. He's a real gentleman," she replied twirling her hair just a little. When Brass unknowingly raised an eyebrow she added, "Well, and he does have a cute smile," she finished. "Do you always do that?" Jessica asked with a small smile gracing her lips.

"What?" Brass asked completely at a loss as to what she was referring to.

"That," Jessica replied pointing at his notepad.

"Um…yeah," Brass replied deftly putting his pen back in his jacket pocket.

Brass finally looked up at Jessica. She was a striking woman and she didn't have the layers of makeup like all the other women in Vegas seemed too.

"Nervous habit?" she asked with a grin.

"No," Brass replied starting to get a little hot under the collar. "Anything else I should know?" Brass asked clearing his throat.

"Not that I can recall," Jessica stated, not bothering to hide her smile as she smoothed her hair down.

"Alright, well thank you for your time and Officer Mitchell will be taking you down to the station for an official statement." As he was walking away she added loud enough for him to hear…

"I much prefer your butt to Ben's smile though," she finished boldly.

Brass turned slightly and smiled at her. She smiled back.

Brass headed over to Mitchell, "Find anything?" he asked.

"From what one of the cooks says it seems they were fighting over this postcard," Mitchell responded holding up a postcard from the Liberace museum.

"You've got to be kidding me," Brass mumbled as his eyebrow went up his forehead. It was his second item.

"What's that Jim?" Mitchell asked.

"Uh, nothing, Mitchell," Brass coughed. "Did you find out the other guy's name?" he asked as he looked at the postcard in Mitchell's hand.

"Yes," Mitchell replied handing the postcard over to a CSI, "His name is Joe Elliot. The paramedics took him to the hospital," Mitchell replied.

Brass nodded motioning Mitchell to continue the witness interviews, "I'm gonna go check out the back," Brass said.

Apparently Ben Harms had run out the back of the restaurant. No one had been able to find him at home or work.

Brass was passing the dumpster when he heard an unusual noise…was that crying?

Brass pulled out his gun and said, "LVPD. Stand up with your hands above your head."

"Please don't shoot," a man's voice said as he noisily got to his feet.

"Are you Ben Harms?" Brass asked his head tilted to the side because the sound had been crying. And Harms was the culprit of it.

"Yes," Ben responded involuntarily wiping the back of his hand across his wet eyes.

"Sir, come out of the dumpster nice and slow," Brass responded moving to the front of the dumpster.

"Mitchell I found our suspect," Brass yelled to Mitchell never taking his eyes off of Ben.

Soon Ben and Brass were in an interrogation room.

"What's with the postcard?" Brass asked as he slid a photo of it across the table to Ben.

"Liberace sent it to me before he passed away," Ben replied picking up the photo, "I was a big fan."

"Why were you and Joe fighting over it?" Brass asked.

"He won a scholarship from the Liberace Foundation over me in school. He's some big hot shot now," Ben replied. "But I guess he never got a signed postcard." Ben shrugged putting the photo back on the table, "He wanted it for some reason."

Brass shifted in his seat figuring there was a little more to it than that, so he continued to listen rather than comment just yet.

"He got the life I wanted. Talent. Fame. Fortune. Why would he want a lousy postcard when he can get whatever he wants?" Ben continued rubbing his hands through his hair.

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking," Brass interrupted.

"I'm a music teacher," Ben replied.

"That's great," Brass said, "You're helping others. That's a wonderful gift. You got a wife? Kids?"

"Yeah," Ben smiled.

"Does Joe?" Brass asked quirking an eyebrow.

"Not sure, but he's got a big a career," Ben finished shrugging his shoulders.

Brass leaned forward and looked piercingly at Ben, "Well, I think you just answered your own question. You've got a great life, who cares if you didn't win a scholarship?" Brass finished getting up from his seat.

"Once you fill out the police forms, you can go home. Hug your wife and kids and just be thankful," Brass finished as moved to leave the interrogation room.

"Thanks, Detective," Ben said with a smile and Brass half turned to him and nodded.

"Can I get my postcard back?" Ben asked, the shy excitement apparent in his crocked smile.

"Sure," Brass said. "As soon as all the i's are dotted and the t's are crossed in the case file," Brass responded with his hand on the door handle to the interrogation room.

"Thanks," Ben said his crocked smile becoming a full one.

"It's my job," Brass said with a small smile.

"So how did you get a piece of cactus?" Catherine asked, her head resting on her hand as they all sat in the break room.

"Long story," Brass chuckled leaning back in his chair.

"But you didn't get a Liberace postcard," Greg practically whined, slouching with both elbows on the table, "I would have loved to keep that.

"You would," Brass said quirking a smile at Greg, "but you can always get one. It is just down the road."

"I know," Greg said. "But it would have been fun to say you got it for me," Greg finished with a smirk.

Brass snorted, "Well, I didn't. So I guess that means you guys are stuck with me for a few more days this year," he finished with a small, contented smile on his face as he looked at them.

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	3. Chapter Two: Warrick

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_aussirayne_ _favors us with Warrick's adventures in Locard-land._

Warrick opened the envelope and studied the items listed on the paper before turning to leave.

"I'll enjoy those days off."

He smiled at the group and dialed a number on his cell phone as he left the break room.

"Hey, it's…"

He stared down at the phone emitting the annoying dial tone and snapped it closed. He made his way to his car mumbling to himself.

Warrick drove straight to Treasure Island and pulled up the valet. He nodded at the attendant opening his door.

"Rick, what's up?"

"Nothin' much, man. Becca around?"

"Sure, she's working the high end tables. She's red tonight."

Warrick grinned and thanked the valet. He wound his way through the casino to a quiet room roped off from the rest of the noisy machines and low dollar tables. He saw her leaning over the table, clearly showing off her assets to the man who could only be described as a boring businessman in a boring gray suit. She took the drink order then headed straight in Warrick's direction, brow furrowing as soon as she saw him.

"No."

Warrick held his hands up to stop her.

"Becca?"

"Seriously, Warrick. You want to act like nothing happened?"

"Come on. I need a favor."

"Too bad. You haven't called me since _that_ night. I mean, we were friends before then. We sleep together once, and you just disappear."

"That probably had something to do with your husband. You know, the one you didn't tell me about?"

"Fine. Just tell me what you need so I can get back to my job."

"An eye patch."

"A what?"

"An eye patch. Don't ask, just tell me you can help me."

"Wow, and I just figured you wanted to get laid."

"Funny."

"Where exactly do you want me to get an eye patch from?"

"You used to work the Siren show. You know you can get one."

"You want me to steal a costume?"

"No, I just need the eye patch. I'll bring it back."

"Okay. Say I do this for you. What's in it for me?"

"What do you want?"

"There's a conference in town this weekend. I'm helping with the planning. I need the experience to get out of this waitressing gig. We're short a couple of people."

"What would I need to do?"

"Just be here Saturday at noon."

"Not without details."

"You'd be doing some guest relations. You know, handing out coupons for shows and food."

"Can't you pay someone to do that?"

"Sure, but if you do it then I'm under budget, and I look good to my boss."

"Fine, I'll be here. Now, can you go get the eye patch?"

"Let me go put this order in, and I'll get it for you."

Warrick watched her leave. He looked at his watch and looked around. Of course his luck put him smack in the face of temptation just to win a contest. Three days off sounded really good, but right now he could only think about spending them sitting next to the boring businessman betting two hundred a hand.

Warrick stood there patiently waiting for nearly twenty minutes before he saw the bright red wig moving through the tables.

"You get it?"

"Did you doubt me?"

"Never."

Warrick's green eyes twinkled just a bit, betraying his stern demeanor, but his eyes usually got him whatever he wanted. He took the small black eye patch from her hand.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Here."

Becca handed him a black duffel bag with T.I. in white letters across one side.

"What's this?"

"Your costume."

"For what?"

"This weekend. The eye patch goes with it."

"No way."

"A deal's a deal. You said yes."

"You didn't tell me there was a costume involved."

"You didn't ask."

Warrick unzipped the bag and saw a horrible hat and what he could only assume were pants.

"A pirate? I have to dress up like a fucking pirate?"

Becca laughed and covered her mouth.

"You agreed."

"This is what I get for asking a woman for help."

"You're lucky I'm helping you."

"Yeah, thanks."

He forced a smile, because he really did want the time off, and, really, dressing like a pirate couldn't be that bad. It worked for Johnny Depp.

Warrick thanked Becca again and headed out to the valet. He tipped the attendant and drove off. He scrolled through his numbers and dialed.

"Joey, tell me you're working the arena tonight."

"I am, but there's a private practice session. We're closed, Rick."

"I need a favor then."

"What?"

"I need a used towel from the locker room."

"Why?"

"Just get one for me?"

"I can't. The locker room is off limits. Something about retiling the showers. I can get you a clean one from the janitor's closet."

"No, it has to be a used one. I know it sounds crazy, but I need it to win a bet."

"The only used towels are on the benches with the teams' bags."

"Can you get one of those?"

"You want me to piss off some huge football player by stealing his towel? Not gonna happen, my friend. I'm five foot seven and weigh less than a hundred and thirty pounds. I'm not stupid."

"Joey, just get a clean towel from the closet and switch it out."

"No, man, I can't."

"Joey, a guy from Jersey can't really be this much of a pussy. Really?"

"What's in it for me?"

"That's everybody's favorite line tonight, huh?"

"I scratch your back, you scratch mine."

"Fine. What do _you_ want?"

"See, there's this girl."

"No, no girls. I'm not some dating guru."

"Fine, no towel then."

Warrick heard a click followed by a dial tone before he hit redial.

"Fine, Joey, what's her name?"

"Becca."

"No, not the one from T.I."

Warrick glared at the laughter coming through the phone.

"No, I just wanted to see what you'd say. She's pissed at you, isn't she?"

"Joey, shut up about her and tell me about this girl you want."

"Angie, she works at the Stratosphere. She's in _Bite_."

"A vampire? You want a vampire? I will not feed some kinky fetish of yours."

"Rick, how badly do you need that towel?"

"Fine. Tell me more."

"I need a date. You have to know someone there."

"I'll see what I can do. Get that towel and meet me out front in ten minutes."

"Alright."

Warrick closed his phone and pulled into the nearest parking lot. He scrolled through his phone and stopped on a name. Letting out a loud sigh, he hit send.

"Hello?"

"Lacy, it's Rick."

"Hey you. I haven't heard from you in months."

"I need a favor. I swear, I'll have to sell my soul before the night's over."

"What do you need, sweetie?"

"A friend, he's a good guy, not bad looking, not rich, but not suffering. He has a thing for Angie. Know her?"

"Sure, she's great."

"He wants a date with her."

"She's also a lesbian. Hardcore."

"That's a problem. I'll call you back later."

"Bye, Rick."

Warrick flipped through his call list and called Joey.

"Joey, she's not into guys."

"You're just trying to get out of this."

"No, I'm serious. She's a lesbian."

"What else have you got to trade for the towel?"

"I can get you tickets to a show this weekend."

"Rick, I work in Vegas, I can get tickets to a show myself. I need something better."

"How about tickets to the big fight Saturday night?"

"How about the front row tickets to that fight? I know you have a pair. I talked to Margie at Caesar's last night."

Warrick gritted his teeth and wondered just how much he needed a vacation.

"Something else?"

"No, the tickets will do just fine."

"Fine, meet me out front with the towel."

"Sure thing."

Warrick drove to the arena and saw Joey waiting out front. He put the car in park and stepped out.

"Just one more thing, Rick. I need a date for the fight."

"A date?"

"Yeah, you know all the hot girls in Vegas. You smile, and they go weak in the knees. Call one up and get me a date."

"I can't just make someone go out with you."

"You must know someone."

Warrick exhaled loudly.

"Fine. Stay right there."

He climbed back in the car and slammed the door. Flipping through his cell phone, he landed on a number he hadn't dialed in a long time.

"Yes?"

"Valerie, it's Warrick. I need a favor. God, I'm starting to hate that word."

"What is it?"

"I need a date for a friend Saturday night. Front row seats to the fight. He wants a pretty girl on his arm."

"Sure. Tell him to pick up Amanda at seven. I'll call you with her address tomorrow."

"Thanks, Val. I owe you."

"Yeah, you do. For you, two hundred, but just dinner and the fight then he takes her straight home."

"Got it."

Warrick hung up and got out of the car.

"Alright, pick up Amanda at seven. Dinner and the fight, then you take her home. No funny business or she'll hurt you."

"Thanks, Rick. Your towel."

Joey handed Warrick a slightly damp towel that reeked of a high school locker room.

"Thanks."

Warrick threw the towel into the passenger's seat and drove off toward the station.

He was pulling into the parking deck when he heard a loud pop followed by a thud every few seconds. He eased his car into his spot and got out to look. Seeing the flat tire, he spewed a few choice words about timing and "fucking with it later" before grabbing the towel and the eye patch and heading inside.

Warrick entered the break room and threw his hunt items down on the table. He sat in an empty chair and waited for Grissom to announce the winner.

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	4. Chapter Three: Catherine

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_smacky30_ _guides Catherine through acquiring her Locard-palooza items._

"Gil!" Catherine followed Grissom from the break room, her heels clacking out a staccato on the tile floor.

A grin twisted the corners of his mouth as he ignored her and turned into his office. He knew she would be right behind him, but he took satisfaction where he could find it.

"Gil," Catherine strode up to his desk, planting one hand on her hip. The other clutched the slip that she had pulled from her envelope. "How in the hell do you expect me to do this?"

Slowly, he looked up from the stack of files he had been shuffling through. "Do what exactly?"

She shook the piece of paper in his direction, irritation rolling off of her in waves. "How do you expect me to get a phone number off the wall in a men's room at the Tangiers? I can't just waltz in there like I own the place."

He was successful in stifling the laugh that bubbled up, but he couldn't keep the twinkle out of his eyes.

"What does that look mean?" Belligerence dripped from every syllable.

Grissom shook his head. "You're a smart woman, Catherine. I'm sure you'll figure out how to get in a men's room."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "Can't I just…"

"No trading." Grissom smirked at her irritation. And then he played his trump card. "You can always give up, you know."

Her fingers tightened around the paper, crumpling it into a ragged ball. "It'll be a cold day, Gil. And you can bet your sweet ass I'll get my items here before everybody else."

Ignoring the fact that Grissom's eyebrow had almost hit his hairline at the sweet ass remark, Catherine turned on her heel and stormed out of his office. Brushing past Hodges, who was coming out of the Trace Lab, she rode the wave of indignation all the way to the parking lot of the Tangiers.

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The sound of the slot machines competed with the music from the Michael Jackson impersonator singing in the small bar located just past the reception desk. Hundreds of people were packed into the casino taking their chance against Lady Luck in this little slice of gamblers' paradise. Catherine strode through the space, weaving her way toward the security room in the back. If she was lucky Jonathan Stone would be working. And if she wasn't lucky…well, it was Vegas after all. People did really strange things here.

Kit clutched firmly in her hand, camera on a strap around her neck, Catherine stepped behind a row of potted ficus trees that flanked an indoor fountain. Hidden behind these was a door and she pressed the button next to it. Holding up her badge, she smiled at the camera, waiting for the light to turn from red to green.

Pushing through the portal, she stopped for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Here, away from the bright lights of the casino floor, was a dark room filled with dozens of video monitors. Five men sat in a semi-circle watching the ever changing images on the screens.

Stepping forward, she said, "I'm Catherine Willows with the LVPD Crime Lab. Is Jonathan Stone working tonight?" Her question was met by silence. After a moment, she raised her voice. "I'm looking for Jonathan Stone. Is he in?"

Slowly, without turning around, one of the men spoke. "He's here."

When no other information was forthcoming, she snapped. "Can you tell me where he is?"

The same disembodied voice spoke again. "He's on the floor."

Her irritation boiling over, she ground out. "Can you call him? Tell him Sam Braun's daughter needs to see him?" When she felt a twinge of guilt at invoking her father's name, she reminded herself that Gil had set the rules and she was merely playing the game.

Suddenly, the man in the chair on the far right snatched up a two way radio and pressed a button. When Jonathan answered, the man relayed Catherine's message. Spinning around and giving her a huge smile, the man said, "If you'd like to wait right outside the door he'll be here in a few. Or…or…you can wait here. Whatever you want."

Suppressing a laugh at the man's obvious change in attitude, Catherine turned and left the room without another word. She was leaning against the wall outside the door when Jonathan came around the corner.

Tall and slim, with broad shoulders and piercing green eyes, Jonathan Stone was a Pit Boss at the casino and almost as sexy as Warrick. Catherine had met him the last time she worked a case there. And, despite her best efforts at getting him to notice her, he had remained a little aloof, making him all the more attractive.

His smile, when he saw her waiting for him, was brilliant. "Hi, there."

Catherine felt her insides quiver as the words rumbled from him like a caress. "Hi, yourself." She smiled up at him and resisted the urge to wipe her damp palms on her pants.

Quickly, Catherine explained her reason for being there. She could feel her cheeks flushing with embarrassment when she asked him if he could clear a men's room for her so that she could check it for phone numbers. But instead of calling her crazy, Jonathan looked at her for a long moment and then burst into laughter. The sound was infectious and soon Catherine found herself laughing right along with him.

"That has to be the greatest place to work." He struggled to catch his breath. "No way could we get away with something like that."

"Yeah." Catherine nodded. "Yeah, it is a pretty great job." She was still chuckling when she asked, "So, are you gonna help me?"

"Oh yeah." Nodding he motioned her forward. "Let's go."

They decided that it would be a good idea if Jonathan went into the restroom first to check for numbers. If he found one, he would clear the room and she would go in. He would then take a picture of her standing beside the number. Catherine figured that would cover all her bases. She wanted to win this thing and she was leaving nothing to chance.

There were three sets of restrooms within the boundaries of the casino and Catherine and Jonathan visited them all. It seemed that the Tangiers' custodial staff did an amazing job. As she slumped against the wall outside the last one, Catherine couldn't believe her luck.

"Gil will never believe that there were no numbers on the walls. Never." She moaned in frustration. "I really wanted those extra three days."

Jonathan leaned there beside her, his eyes scanning the room. "There may be something we can do."

"What?" Catherine snorted.

"Have you got a Sharpie in that suitcase you're lugging around?" When she nodded, he continued, "Why don't I write your number on the wall? I'll take your picture and then have somebody clean it up." He watched her from the corner of his eye, trying to judge her reaction.

Her first instinct was to say no, but that quickly passed. It was within the rules and it would only be up there a minute. A smile slowly brightened her face. "Sure. Let's do it."

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After leaving the Tangiers, Catherine was dispatched to a B&E about ten miles away. She drove all the way with a smile on her face. Not only did she already have her first item after just an hour, she had a date for her next night off. Jonathan had made a big production out of copying her number off the wall before he called housekeeping. Then, in a voice that sent shivers up her spine, he had asked if she'd like to have dinner with him. What could she say except yes?

Working the scene took longer than she thought and it was nearly five o'clock in the morning, two hours before the end of shift, when she headed back to the lab. With a bounce in her step, she logged her evidence and headed to her office. Stowing her purse in a drawer, she plugged the camera into her computer and printed off a copy of the photo that showed her standing beside a urinal pointing to her own name and number.

Print out in hand she walked out to the reception desk. With a flourish she handed her photo to Judy. "How are the others doing?"

"Um…I'm not supposed to say." Judy smiled tentatively at Catherine.

"What?" Catherine shook her head, unable to believe Gil would go that far. "You're kidding, right?" She reached for the list.

Judy pulled it out of reach. "No. I'm not kidding. Doctor Grissom was very specific."

Catherine planted her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. "Well, make sure _Doctor Grissom_ knows I got that phone number." Satisfied that she had successfully intimidated the mousy little woman, Catherine headed for the morgue.

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Pushing through the swinging doors into the autopsy suite, Catherine glanced around, looking for Dr. Robbins. Spying David Phillips across the room washing down an autopsy table, she walked over.

"Hey, David." Catherine smiled at the young man. "Where's Al?"

"Catherine," he nodded in greeting. "He's not here."

Letting her eyes scan the room and a smirk settle on her full lips, she said, "Well, obviously he's not here. So, where is he?"

The nerves he usually tried to hide from Catherine were evident in his voice. "Off…um…he's off tonight."

For a moment, she simply stared at him in disbelief. "He always works on Thursday. Always."

He gave a nervous chuckle and waved a hand at the otherwise empty room. "Not always."

Running a hand through her hair, she drew in a calming breath. "I am so gonna kill Gil when this is over."

"Doctor Hill is here. Maybe she can help you."

"Not unless her fingerprints are an exact match for Al's."

"Uh…I'm not sure I understand." David pushed his glasses up on his nose and peered at her quizzically. "How could her prints match Doc's?"

Clenching her fists tightly, Catherine held on to her self-control. "They can't and they won't." She forced herself to relax. "Do you know where Al is?"

"No. I think he was taking his wife somewhere. Some dinner or something." David shrugged. "If I had to guess I'd say at home."

"Great. Just great." Glancing at her watch she muttered a curse under her breath before she pushed the door open with her hip. "Thanks David."

With a determined glint in her eyes, Catherine headed back to her office. Sitting behind her desk, she wiggled the mouse to wake up her computer. A few clicks and she slumped against the back of her chair and groaned in frustration. When did Al move to Lake Las Vegas?

Once again she checked the time. It was half past five. She had time to get out there and back. But what if he wasn't there? What if they had spent the night somewhere else? With a resigned sigh, she plucked the cell phone off her side and flipped it open. She scrolled through her contacts until she found Al's number and then she pressed the button to start dialing.

Four rings and she was contemplating hanging up when a sleep roughened voice said, "Somebody better be dead." A second later his voice softened. "Go back to sleep, dear. It's work."

_Shit, shit, shit_, she thought frantically. "Al. It's Catherine."

"I know who it is. What I don't know is what you want." His whisper bordered on a growl. He was obviously not happy at having been woken up.

Catherine, knowing she only had one chance at this, began to explain. She quickly told him about the scavenger hunt and the extra vacation time. She even included a short run down of her time at the Tangiers. Then she hit him with the reason she was calling him.

"So," Al made no effort to hide the disbelief in his voice, "you woke me up to ask if you can print me?"

"Come on, Al." Catherine debated what she could offer him in return for going along. "Help me out. I'll owe you big time."

"You know what? I think it might be worth it." When she didn't reply he chuckled. "It'll be nice knowing that you owe me."

Releasing a breath she didn't realize she was holding, Catherine grabbed her keys and practically ran to her vehicle. "Thanks. I really appreciate it. I'm on my way."

With a chuckle, Al said, "Oh Catherine? Judy really likes the Caramel Swirl Latte's from that Dunkin' Donuts on Marina Way. It's about three miles from our place." And then he hung up.

Cursing under her breath about the delay, Catherine headed out to her car.

The trip out to Lake Las Vegas was smooth. Traffic at that time of morning was light, even the dedicated partiers taking a break. She was at the drive-thru in about twenty minutes, and at Al's address in another ten. At five minutes after six she was ringing his doorbell.

When Al Robbins opened the door in his pajamas and robe Catherine gave him a big smile and held out two cups of coffee. "I got you regular, because I didn't know if you wanted a flavor."

"Black is fine." Al stepped back to let her enter. "Come in. Let's get this done."

Catherine stepped through the door, her eyes scanning the space. With a touch of remorse, she saw Al's wife, Judy, curled into a corner of the couch. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep and her hair was mussed, but she was staring at Catherine with a soft smile playing over her mouth.

"Judy," Catherine moved across the room, "I'm so sorry about this."

"Don't worry about it. It was almost time for me to get up for work." She took the cup Catherine held out and carefully pulled off the lid. Taking a deep breath, inhaling the rich aroma, she moaned. "Thanks for this."

"It was the least I could do." Catherine slid the cardboard tray onto the coffee table and placed her kit on the floor. Turning she said, "If you're ready, we'll get this over with. Then I can get out of here and leave you in peace."

Al moved over and took a seat beside his wife. He watched as Catherine opened her kit and took out the things she would need, placing them neatly on the table. "You do have some of those wipes, right? I don't want to walk around for days with ink on me."

She looked up and flashed him a smile. "Of course I have some."

She made quick work of getting his prints, even having him sign and date the card. With a few more murmured apologies, she was at the door. "Al, thanks again. I know I owe you for this. Just name it."

"Don't worry, Catherine. I'm holding on to this one for a big pay out." She gave a chuff of laughter and turned for her car. "Oh yeah, good luck!"

Giving a wave, she climbed in the car and reversed out of the drive. Glancing at her watch again, she noted that she had about forty minutes to get back to the lab. She would definitely be able to cover the twenty miles in that amount of time. With a self-satisfied smirk on her face she pointed the vehicle northwest and headed for the lab.

Everything was going well. Traffic, while heavier than before, was still moving along quickly. At least until she hit the Strip. She was about a mile from the lab when everything came to a halt. Turning up the volume on her police radio, Catherine groaned out loud when she heard the news. A food service truck had flipped over about three blocks ahead of her and there was frozen food scattered all over the street.

For a second she debated using her lights, but just as quickly rejected the idea. A suspension wasn't her idea of the best way to get time off. She glanced longingly at the sidewalk, but knew that would be even worse. Instead, she looked at her watch, counting off each minute as it ticked by. Leaning forward in the seat, she tried to urge the traffic to move. Even though she realized how futile it was, she found herself pounding on the steering wheel.

Finally, realizing she had only ten minutes to get back before the end of shift and traffic showed no sign of moving, Catherine edged the car to the side of the street. She jumped out, grabbed her kit, and hit the sidewalk at a trot. The first couple of blocks weren't a problem. But by block number three her feet were beginning to protest. The shoes she wore every day were okay for working a scene, but were definitely not made for running. Still, she pushed forward. The building was in sight and she would not, could not, accept defeat at this point.

Steadily, one foot in front of the other, she ran. Sweat had plastered her hair to the back of her neck and ran in a trickle along her spine. A thought skittered through her mind that she might never walk right again. The kit banged against the side of her knee, and she knew there would be a bruise there later. For a split second she almost stopped, but that urge was gone almost as soon as it appeared. It wasn't in her nature to quit.

Winded, feet throbbing, Catherine jogged across the lab's parking lot. She pushed through the door and strode up to the reception desk. There was a delivery man there talking with Judy and Catherine stood behind him, glancing impatiently at the clock behind the desk. She had two minutes. Suddenly, she could almost feel the cooling ocean breeze, taste a sweet frozen drink, feel the sun's rays dancing over her skin. Three days of vacation and she could surely find a beach to spend them on.

The second hand of the clock was moving, ticking off the seconds until seven o'clock. And the delivery man, Roger if she had heard correctly, was telling Judy about some recipe of his grandmother's. Her patience wearing thin, Catherine began tapping her foot and staring pointedly at the receptionist. But she was being ignored.

With forty-five seconds left, Grissom walked up and, oblivious as usual, simply said, "Excuse me."

Judy's simpering came to an abrupt end. All business now, she looked up at Grissom. "Doctor Grissom! Is there something you need?"

Before she could begin a conversation with Grissom, Catherine pushed her way in front of the hapless driver and grabbed the box. "Uh-uh. I have been here for two minutes, waiting on you to finish your conversation with this guy…" she jerked a thumb in his general direction. "By the way, does Archie know about this?"

Looking around, Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Catherine, it is technically past the end of shift."

Shaking her head in disbelief, she held out the ten card with Dr. Robbins finger prints on it. "Oh no. I was here. You have no idea what I had to go through to get this and it better be on that piece of paper."

Judy stood and drew herself up as if preparing for battle. "I didn't see you there."

"Maybe that's because you only had eyes for…," she turned her head and slid a scathing look over the man standing between her and Grissom. "Do you want to explain why signing for some packages takes so long?"

Before anybody else could utter another word, Roger spoke up. "Uh, sir," he slid a glance at Grissom, "she was here. I…uh…I noticed when she came in." Now he turned to Judy and gave a slight shrug.

"Roger?" Catherine stepped a little closer to him, watching as he licked his lips and avoided her eyes. "Thank you for being so honest."

Swallowing heavily, he blushed. "You're welcome, ma'am. Sorry to cause any trouble."

Grissom, who had been watching the exchange with a smirk on his face, nodded. "Give your items to Judy, Catherine."

"Does that mean I'm still in the game?"

"Of course you're still in." With a shake of his head, he turned and pointed down the hall. "But I need you to go finish your paperwork on the Duvall case while I confer with Judy." He raised his eyebrows. "In private."

Behind him Catherine stopped, raised her arms in victory and did a little shimmy before hurrying down the hall.

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	5. Chapter Four: Nick

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_Kristen Elizabeth_ _helps Nick get his lock on Locard by locking lips with a certain fingerprint tech._

Nick stood in the doorway, unnoticed by the woman bent over her workstation, peering at a set of fingerprints with a large magnifying glass. He watched her for several minutes, taking in the full picture she presented. Determined, dedicated and, in his opinion, delectable beneath her dark blue lab coat. He was just about to call her name when she spoke.

"Are you just going to stand there all day?" Mandy glanced up with a private smile. "Or is there something I can do for you?"

Stepping inside, Nick lowered his voice as not to be overheard by anyone in the hallway. "That's a loaded question, darlin'." She smiled as she placed the print lift she'd been examining into her scanner. "Actually though...I do need a favor."

"Really?" She hit a button on the scanner and turned her full attention on him. "I'm all ears."

Nick walked to her, glancing all around to make doubly sure that they were alone. "You mentioned once that you have an uncle who's an electrician for the Sahara, didn't you?"

"Uncle Teddy, yeah." Mandy looked confused. "Why do you ask?"

"What exactly does he do for them?" Nick asked, sidestepping her question.

She thought for a second. "Will playing along be worth my while?"

Nick winked. "Only one way to find out."

"Fine," Mandy agreed a second later. "The only thing I really know about Uncle Teddy's job is that he's in charge of the big Sahara sign."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he maintains it. Keeps it bright and shiny."

"So..." Nick stepped closer. "If a bulb inside the sign goes out..."

"Uncle Teddy replaces it." She folded her arms and stared at him. "Why are you so interested?"

"Locard."

Mandy frowned. "Is this for a case?"

"No. I don't suppose you'd be willing to give me Uncle Teddy's phone number." He paused. "And maybe his real name."

"Hmm." She placed her finger at her pursed lips. "It'll cost you, Stokes."

He leaned in, bringing them face to face with just enough room between them for respectability, in case anyone was watching. "Will I have to sing?"

Mandy shook her head, the ends of her dark cap of hair swaying back and forth. "All I want...is a kiss."

"A kiss?" Nick repeated, savoring the words.

"One kiss...per digit."

"So that's seven kisses."

Her eyes twinkled. "He lives in Laughlin. You have to dial the area code."

"Ten kisses?" Nick pretended to think it over. "You've got yourself a deal."

Mandy crooked her finger at him and after yet another check of the area to assure discretion, Nick closed the distance between them. His lips fluttered against hers. When he drew back, Mandy opened her eyes.

"Seven..." she whispered. He kissed her again a moment later, applying more pressure this time. The next number came out on a moan. "Zero..." Another kiss. "Two."

Nick pulled away and took her hand, smiling broadly. "Let's move this to locker room, darlin'."

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"Bulb from a casino sign...check." Sitting in his car in the lab parking lot, Nick examined the red colored bulb that he'd recently unscrewed from the center of the "S" in the Sahara sign. "Thank you, Uncle Teddy."

He glanced at his watch. Two hours until the end of the shift and the deadline for Grissom's scavenger hunt, but he still had his second item to procure. Heaving his butt off the seat, Nick dug into his pocket and pulled out the list Grissom had provided.

"A Waffle World menu," he mused. "Piece of cake." Nick shook his head as he reached for his phone and dialed. "Sheesh, Grissom. At least try to make it difficult, man."

"Don't tell me," Mandy answered on the third ring. "You fell for Uncle Teddy's considerable charms and have decided to run off with him."

"Well, he did let me borrow his gloves so I wouldn't burn my fingers on the bulb," Nick chuckled. "In Texas, we call that love."

"Just so you know, he snores," Mandy shot back.

"Thanks for the tip. So...are you anywhere near a stopping point?"

"I could be persuaded to take a break. Why do you ask?"

"I'm sitting outside the front door, ready to whisk you off for a plate of fabulous Waffle World waffles. What do you say?"

He could picture her smile and it made him smile, too. "I never turn down free waffles. Give me five minutes."

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"I think these are the biggest menus I've ever seen."

Nick lowered his in order to see the woman sitting across from him, but her entire head and part of her shoulders were obscured by the huge, laminated pages. All of a sudden, Grissom's challenge seemed a little more challenging. This was not going to be something he just slip into his pocket or Mandy's purse. Smuggling this menu out was going to take a big pinch of luck.

"Hey." He waited until Mandy peeked out from behind her menu. "Is this our first date?"

Mandy reached for her water and took a fortifying sip. "I don't know. Is it?"

It wasn't a question Nick had an answer to, and he wasn't proud of that fact. They'd slept together exactly five times, but this would be the first time they shared a meal together out in public.

"I think..." he began.

Just then, their waitress appeared. She was five-six, blond and curvy with a name tag that read "Candi" clipped just over her very generous breast. "What can I get y'all today?" She punctuated her question with a little wink meant only for Nick's eyes.

It was the "y'all" that caught Nick's attention. It was distinctly Texan. Sensing an opportunity, Nick let his own accent run wild. "How 'bout we start with some bigger menus, darlin'. I don't think these are big enough."

Candi's laugh was shrill. It reminded Nick of a girl he'd dumped in his sophomore year of high school.

"You're funny," she giggled.

"Brilliantly observed," Mandy muttered into her water glass.

"Seriously, these've gotta be the biggest menus in Vegas," Nick went on. "I bet no one back home in Dallas would believe 'em."

"You're from Dallas?" Candi squeaked. "I'm from Greenville!"

He turned his smile up a few watts. "Almost neighbors."

Candi couldn't get over it. "Oh my god, it's such a small world!"

Nick nodded. "And there really is no place like home."

Mandy scowled behind her menu. "If I only had a brain..."

"Tell you what," Candi said, leaning forward a little to put her plastic surgeon's talents on display. "Why don't you send one back to Dallas?"

"You mean...take one?" Nick said as though the very idea had never crossed his mind.

"I wouldn't be gettin' you in trouble now would I, Candi from Greenville?"

"Nope. It's on me." With another wink, she picked up her note pad again. "Y'all wanna start with some hot chocolate or somethin'?"

When Candi left with their orders, Nick flashed Mandy a triumphant smile. "How 'bout that?"

"How about what?"

His smile wilted under her cool expression. "You're probably wondering why I want a menu, aren't you?"

Slumped back against the plastic seat of the booth, Mandy lifted her shoulder with carefully constructed indifference. "Grissom's scavenger hunt. I've been hearing about it all night."

"Oh. Well..." Nick cleared his throat. "You've helped me a lot."

"Don't mention it."

A moment passed. "You're mad at me."

"What makes you think you have any influence over my mood?" she asked tersely. "It's not like you're my boyfriend or anything. We just screw ourselves senseless occasionally."

"It's more than that to me." She turned her head away from him. Nick pressed on, "Mandy...I hope you don't think that I'm interested in..."

He was cut off again by the sudden reappearnce of Candi. She came bearing two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. As she set Nick's in front of him, she treated him to a coy smile. "So...could I maybe give you my phone number? I don't meet a lot of people from back home out here and I..."

Nick shook his head. "I'm sorry, Candi." He looked straight at Mandy. "I'm already seeing someone."

Mandy didn't get a lot of dirty looks from plastic blondes; it felt good when Candi shot her one before flouncing off.

"Aren't you worried she won't let you take the menu?" Mandy asked, the beginnings of a tentative smile playing on her lips.

"If she doesn't, who cares? It's only three days of vacation at stake." Nick reached across the table for her hand. "What's the fun of extra vacation time if you don't have anyone to spend it with?"

Mandy rolled her eyes, but her happy grin gave her away. "God, you really are smooth-talking cowboy."

"Yee-haw, darlin'."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI** Nick presented his light bulb and his menu to Judy, but didn't stick around to hear the outcome of the competition. He had a fingerprint tech waiting to put her mark all over him.

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	6. Chapter Five: Archie

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_LosingInTranslation_ _has Archie use all of his geeky superpowers to retrieve his items._

Staring at his list, Archie suddenly felt like he was really going to win something this time. After a lifetime of being an also ran and second banana, he was finally going to come out on top. Or at least…he hoped he would. There was always a chance that something really horrific would pop up and destroy his chances, and it's not like it hadn't happened before. But at least this time he had a plan, and an advantage. Sometimes it really did pay to be the biggest geek in the building.

First on his agenda would be to start sorting through his blackmail archives. He always knew that being in charge of all this video data would come in handy someday, but his sense of right and wrong had always kept him from using it for anything particularly evil. Unlike Hodges, he actually kept his nose clean, and would never use his advantage to hurt someone else. But this little game was something else altogether.

This was about a trip to the beach, and finally convincing a certain someone in reception to wear that wetsuit he'd bought for her at Christmas. Besides, everyone needs a little shakeup now and then, and Henry should never be allowed to get too comfortable.

Once he finally came across the file he needed, Archie loaded it up to his PSP and pulled out that card he'd been unable to use for some time. A quick check on his monitors to make sure Henry was in the lab, and he was on his way to capture the first item on his list.

A polite wave to Mandy and he rounded the corner to the Toxicology Lab, only to find Ecklie in there giving Henry the business about some kind of budget crap. He pitied Henry, but he was not about to get caught up in that nightmare. So, he made a quick about face and headed out to see if his other target was in play. With any luck, he might not even have to leave the lab to get his items in before the others. Of course, seeing as Ecklie had already foiled his first shot, he was starting to wonder if his careful plans weren't already doomed.

Luck was finally on his side as he found Bobby Dawson quietly cleaning one of his many firearms in the Ballistics Lab. Slipping in through the doorway, Archie softly walked up to stand directly behind Bobby, not daring to disturb the man's concentration until his hands were safely removed from the weapon. As soon as the automatic gun was gently placed in the case, Archie spoke up. "Yo Bobby!"

"Dammit Archie! I told ya to stop doin' that, man!" Bobby was clutching at his chest as he tried to get his nerves calmed back down.

"Sorry, dude… But it was just too much to resist. You didn't even see me come around the other corner this time. I had to do it, man." Archie grabbed the stool from the other side of the table and swung it around to sit down in front of Bobby. "Okay, I'm sure you've heard about this scavenger hunt thing, right?"

"Like somethin' that good isn't gonna be all over the lab in five minutes." Bobby rolled his eyes at the insinuation that something that big would be outside of his spectrum of knowledge. "But I also know you can't use any of us non-players to get your stuff. So, what's with the cloak and dagger?"

"It's not getting if I'm willing to trade… That's another one of the rules." The waggle of Archie's brow was enough to elicit a good chuckle from Bobby.

"Okay… Fair enough. So, what d'you have to trade and what's it gonna cost me?" Bobby wasn't as bumpkin as everyone tried to think, so Archie knew the man would cut through the bull in a hurry to get to the point.

"I got something you need for a really hot weekend, my non-geeky friend." Archie looked around to make sure no one was looking before he pulled the very special card from his back pocket. "With this little piece of plastic…you can make that girlfriend of yours lose her mind with lust for your well-connected body."

Bobby was not impressed with his innuendo and wanted something concrete. "I seriously doubt that you've got anything that Mattie wil-" He was stopped mid-word as Archie flipped the card over and revealed it be an all access pass to the Star Trek Experience. "Dayum! Where'd the hell did you get somethin' like that?!"

"Look, don't go spreading it around, but I used to date one of the chicks that designed the place, and she sort of slipped this to me…as a thank you." He quickly hid the card from site when he noticed Hodges walking passed the glass.

Bobby picked up on the disturbance and covered for them with, "So, if you're gonna try to film the trajectory of a fourty-five with a full load into the ballistics gel, you're gonna need a faster camera."

Always one to think fast on his feet, Archie jumped right in on the ploy until he was sure Hodges was well out of earshot. "Okay, so what kind of camera would you recommend-…" Blowing out a breath when the coast was clear, Archie thanked his friend, "That was close… I'd never get any peace if Hodges knew I had this thing."

"Oh yeah, I know all about that one. Mattie says they kicked him out the ship, or house, or whatever they call the group here in Vegas." Bobby laughed at the memory and added, "You gotta be a special breed of dork to get Trekkies to call you out for being weird."

Taking the card from Archie's hand, Bobby nodded his head and said, "You know… With something like this, I could get some serious mileage." He looked up at the other man and shrugged, "Okay, what do you need?"

"Nothing from you… I need Mattie to trade me that card for something from the cafeteria at the hospital. And she's gotta bring it here tonight for the trade off." Archie looked like he had just won the brass ring with his explanation.

"This card is worth way more than that… What's the catch?" Bobby eyed him with a suspicious glare.

"Look, that thing just isn't worth much to me anymore. It's not like I can use it anymore without dying at the hands of the current girlfriend." Bobby nodded his understanding and Archie continued, "So, when I remembered about your girl being a Trek fan, I figured I'd use this to my advantage. Think she'll go for it?"

"Are you kidding me?! Full behind the scenes access to the Star Trek Experience, plus private tours of the vaults, plus VIP seating for special shows? This card is like pure gold to a Trekkie." He slapped the card into his other hand and finished with, "She's not gonna believe that all you want for it is something from the cafeteria."

"I can't use it without serious bodily harm, and getting three vacation days after blowing all my other comp time for DEF CON, InterOP and SIGGRAPH is like way more than a bonus, man. Do you know how long I've gone without hitting the beach? It's like practically fatal for me, Bobby. I need that vacation time." Archie was desperate, and he was not above letting Bobby know it.

"Okay, okay… You don't have to blow a gasket, Arch. I'll give Mattie a call and have her make a special delivery to do the trade. She's working a split tonight and was coming by with lunch for me anyway." He flipped the card back to Archie and added, "And I can't believe I gotta eat hospital food for you, buddy."

"Thanks, man… I seriously appreciate it." As Archie left the Ballistics Lab, he felt a little relief at securing at least one piece of the puzzle.

He went back around to check on Henry, only to find him being grilled by Hodges. It was just his luck that the little weasel would get to Henry first. His only hope would be that Hodges was just trying find out why Ecklie had been in there earlier. The only thing greater than Hodges' desire to win, was his overwhelming need to keep his nose firmly lodged up Ecklie's hind end.

After several more failed trips to the Toxicology Lab, Archie was beginning to sweat. He had a ton of video to sift through for a big case on Days, and everyone seemed to be demanding Henry's attention that night. It also wasn't helping that Bobby's girlfriend had gotten held up at the hospital, so he was still missing that item as well. He was running out of time with nothing to show for his efforts, and there was no way to make an end run around his original plans for acquisition.

He was about to give up all hope when he walked by the Tox Lab once more, Archie nodded at Greg as he passed by and went on to the Evidence Vault for another batch of video to process. On his way back to his own lab, Archie was caught completely off guard when he was quickly pulled into the Tox Lab.

Henry looked like a scared rabbit and spoke with a machine gun rhythm, "Okay look… You've been hovering around here all night, and I can't take it anymore. Just tell me what you want, and it's yours. Only, please, please don't spread around whatever it is you have on me this time."

It took him a few moments to even register what had happened, but seeing Henry's desperate and pleading face reminded him of exactly what he needed to do. "Well, I don't know, Henry…" He pulled the PSP out of his back pocket and waved it under Henry's gaze. "This is pretty big. And I'm not sure you've got anything to match it."

"Oh God… It's not from the freezer is it?!" His face told Archie all he needed to know; Henry had been up to something really good. He turned his head and gave a slight shrug, which only served to throw Henry into a total panic. "Oh, man. You totally have it, don't you?! Okay, name it, it's yours. You CANNOT let that out. Please, Archie. Just tell me what you want. Anything, I swear, and it's yours."

Archie had Henry right where he wanted him. "Okay… But it's gonna cost you."

"Anything!"

"Fine… I want your VIP coupon book from Glitter Gluch." Archie watched all of the blood completely drain from Henry's face. The man actually went past white and straight to a deathly gray in an instant. "Dude… Don't lose your lunch. It's not like I'm asking for your VIP Card, just your coupon book."

Henry shook himself back into reality and leaned forward to whisper, "How'd you know about my card?"

"Sorry, man. But you had a whole stack of mail from them on your desk last time we played Ever-Crack at your place." Henry grimaced when he realized his mistake. "They only send that much swag to repeat visitors, and only then when you sign up for rewards."

"Do you really need the whole thing?" The small quality of his voice actually made Archie feel sorry for his co-worker.

Reaching into his front pocket, he fished out his list again to verify exactly what he needed. When he read the entry, a smile formed on his face; "a Glitter Gulch coupon."

"You're in luck, Henry, my man… Looks like I only need one." Archie watched as all the tension melted away from the awkward chemist.

Henry walked happily over to his jacket and withdrew the coupon book in question. "Thank God! I'm only a few more tickets away from a free night with the esco-" He stopped when he realized what he was about to reveal and turned nervously around, ripping one of the coupons from the books. "I ah…have been saving up for something."

Taking the coupon from him, Archie fought to keep the laughter from showing on his face. "No sweat, Henry. What you do on your own time is your business, brother."

Archie was about to walk out of the lab when Henry cleared his throat. Turning around, he found Henry waiting with an impatient look on his face. It took him a moment to register what Henry wanted, but then nodded. "Oh yeah, right." He brought the PSP out again and proceeded to show Henry that he was deleting the file contained on it. "And you've got my word… Never will this video reach the cyber-waves, dude."

With the coupon safely in his possession, Archie was glad to have gotten one of the items. Even if he didn't win, at least he managed to make a good showing of it.

As he walked back to his lab, he was surprised to hear his name being called over the PA, informing him that he had a visitor in the reception area. On his way to the front desk, he heard Bobby's name called as well, and he suddenly felt very excited about having a visitor.

Clearing the lab doors, he found a woman dressed in nurse's scrubs holding a full tray of food from the Desert Palms cafeteria; his final item on the scavenger hunt list. After exchanging the items with Bobby's girlfriend, Archie triumphantly walked over to Judy's desk as Bobby came through the doors.

"Well, don't you look like the cat that ate the canary?" Judy greeted him with a joke and tiny giggle.

"A couple of canaries, actually." He gave her a sly wink as he set the tray down on the desk and fished out his VIP coupon. "Rack me up, Judes… I've got all my stuff for the hunt."

"No kidding? That's very impressive, Archie. Dr. Grissom was sure everyone would be scrambling to get this one done." She reached into a drawer and withdrew the envelopes Grissom had given her at the start of the shift.

"Has anyone else turned their stuff in?" Archie felt a tendril of panic when he realized that he could still lose.

"Oh no… You're not getting it out of me that easy. Dr. Grissom was very specific about my job tonight. And I'm not about to waste my three days of vacation by giving you even a little hint." Judy flipped through the envelopes as she teased Archie, until she found the right one.

"Wait… You get vacation time, too?"

"Of course! How else do you think Dr. Grissom could convince me to administer his little game tonight? If Ecklie gets even a little hint of this thing, we'll all lose time for sure." She broke the seal on the envelope that bore his name and jotted down the time at the top of the card.

The moment she started to scan down the page, Archie watched as her face first turned white, and then a deep angry red. "Archie Johnson! Are you telling me you went to that place and-"

"No no no no… I didn't even get within a mile of that place." He quickly thought of the only other thing he valued and raised his hand in the air, "I swear on my Asus SLI mobo with the Intel Core 2 Extreme processor...I was nowhere near that place tonight."

Judy gave him a steely glare, evaluating his trustworthiness with nothing more than her careful eye. After making sure that he never so much as flinched from the story, she blinked and went back to documenting his first entry.

Archie was in the middle of breathing a sigh of relief when Judy spoke again. "So, where's your menu item from Desert Palms?"

A devilish grin spread over his face and leaned in closer to say, "That's the best part… Because after you log it in, I imagine you can just polish it off."

"What?" As she looked up, he watched Judy push those glasses back up on her nose when she wrinkled it with her question. He always enjoyed watching her doing that.

Reaching for the tray, he quickly unwrapped it and removed the cover. "All the Jello, pudding and fruit cups your little heart desires!"

"Archie!" Judy shook her head at his joke and tried to restrain the smile that threatened to take over her face. In a conspiratorial tone she admonished him, "You've got to stop doing that."

"Oh quit… You know you love it." Before he had a chance to tease her any further, their fun was immediately halted with the presence of the assistant director of the lab.

"Archie…how are you coming along with that video the Days' supervisor left for you?" Judy quickly stuffed the envelopes back into the drawer before Ecklie got close enough to see over her countertop. But it didn't stop him from trying to discern what they were up to.

"Ah, yeah, I'm just about through the third set, but no luck so far. The cameras just don't seem to be set up to handle the exterior activity at that store. Looks like the owners are more worried about what the employees are doing, instead of the customers." Archie stepped away from the desk, hoping to draw Ecklie along with him.

"Isn't that always the way it works?" Ecklie rolled his eyes with the comment. "Anyway, just make sure you get through all of those before you clock out. The Day Shift guy is driving me crazy about it." As he finished giving Archie his instructions, he noticed the tray of unusual desserts sitting on the counter.

Archie grimaced an apology to Judy when Ecklie turned to pick up one of the fruit cups and asked, "Is there something I should know about, Judy?'

"Um, no sir… Bobby's girlfriend just dropped them off for everyone. Something about, ah, taking up too much space in their fridge at the hospital?" Judy wasn't usually one to think quickly on her feet, so Archie was pleasantly surprised to see her winging it so well. He was actually proud of the way she covered for their little game, and sneaked a quick thumbs up to her before ducking back into the lab.

The only thing left to do was to wait for Grissom to announce the winner. He just hoped it was him, because he had some pretty awesome plans for those three days. Awesome plans that involved a warm beach, his favorite surfboard, and a giggly receptionist in a wetsuit he wanted to introduce to his favorite pastime. He chuckled to himself as he entered the A/V Lab, "Well, my second favorite pastime, now."

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	7. Chapter Six: Greg

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_jenbachand_ _guides Greg through bosses, bikers and babes to triumph at the Locard Hunt. _

A street full of broken car windows wasn't the most exciting case Greg had worked recently, but considering that he had other things on his mind, it was a welcome crime. Well, as welcome as crime could be. He dusted the cars for fingerprints, took pictures at each of the vehicles, and lucked out on the last one where the perp had snagged his sleeve on a sharp edge and cut himself. He was hopeful that the bit of blood collected would wrap up the case quickly. He headed back to the lab with a plan forming in his mind on how to win the extra days of vacation.

The first item on the list Greg had received from Grissom was going to be Hell to get, but his family had always taught him to tackle the hardest problem first, so he set off down the hallway to try and acquire one of his treasures. Quick thinking on his behalf had him swing by Judy's desk to pick up some forms to put his plan into action.

Ecklie's office was the furthest away from the front of the lab. Greg felt that was on purpose so that he had no chance of the public getting to him as well as easy access to the back entrance in case things got ugly. It was still early enough in the evening that Greg could catch him before he packed it in for the night.

Luck favored Greg, and Ecklie was sitting hunched over his desk working through a mountain of files. He knocked lightly on the open door and the assistant lab director looked up with a scowl.

"Hey," Greg walked through the door as his investigative senses kicked in. He spotted his objective. It sat on the corner of a file, calling his name like a siren. This would be tricky, but he felt confident that he could pull it off.

"Grissom's out in the field, and I don't know when he'll be back. I wanted to turn my request in as soon as possible. You know how moms are if you miss a special day," Greg finished and handed over a time off request. It wasn't a complete lie. His mom had been hounding him to come for a visit, and had even offered to buy his plane ticket if he'd give her a date.

Ecklie furrowed his brow and read over the paperwork. He picked up a pen and signed off on the request.

"I should make you put it in Grissom's box, but it might not see the light of day until you retire," Ecklie said as he handed the form back to Greg. Greg's chuckle brought a smile to Ecklie's face. Greg looked over the form for a minute.

"Can I borrow your pen, I forgot to sign it and I think I left mine back in the layout room," Greg added, and when he handed it over, triumph surged through his body. As he signed his name and took a minute to look over the form some more for "missed" things, he put his plan into action. "So I saw you and your wife on TV the other day for that charity. What was it?"

"Pink Pants for Progress. My wife volunteers at the breast cancer center and they're doing a fundraiser. Some local designers are going to be competing to make the most interesting pink outfits."

"Your wife's idea?" Greg asked. As Ecklie rambled on about his wife's brilliant idea, Greg slid the pen into his pocket.

The engraved pen of Conrad Ecklie was probably going to have a position of prominence in Grissom's office. Probably in the tarantula tank where Ecklie would never venture to retrieve it.

Before Greg could savor his victory, there was a new call that came in. A huge brawl at a campsite, with no one fessing up to the cause, but everyone wanting to press charges.

Greg was really confused. They rarely got calls about a fight unless someone was dead or dying. Brass' comment of "bring extra swabs" didn't bode well for making an early night of it. Wendy offered to tag along and help with the collection, and Greg gladly accepted the offer.

The ride out to the scene was fun. Wendy had a lot of questions and reminded him when he was trying to get out of the lab and learn more about what went on in the field. Only she didn't have the hyperactive energy that had seemingly grated on the nerves of the team when he was trying to learn more.

The scene that greeted them was both a nightmare and a joy.

Roughly 300 Yuppie bikers with new shiny bikes on side of the police cars, and roughly 50 "real" bikers on the other.

The "real" bikers looked none the worse for wear.

Greg knew why there was such a litigious angle to the fight, a good quarter were probably lawyers, judging by the expensive bikes and legal themed personalized plates. But, Greg thought, as he started setting up a DNA collection point, he had a very good feeling about being able to get his second item on the list and sweep the vacation time reward.

As the sun started to rise over the campsite, Greg stretched, wincing as his back cracked. Wendy gave him a sympathetic look as she labeled yet another swab box. He felt sorry for her, as most of the processing would fall on her in the coming week, or more likely weeks.

He was bent over writing, so he didn't notice the woman when she walked up and plunked her helmet down on the table. When he did though, he was at a loss for words. She was tall, with legs that went on for days, and a mane of hair that was meant for tossing.

"Any chance of me being able to get out of here before noon?" she asked in a deep, husky voice that sent a jolt of excitement throughout his body. Greg stared up into the most intriguing set of green eyes he had ever seen.

"Sure. I'll just collect your DNA sample, while my assistant here takes your picture and gets your information," Greg said while delivering his most charming smile. It must have worked because the woman smiled back. Wendy's huff of indignation (whether at being called his assistant or what he didn't know) made him pull her to the side.

"What's the deal?" Wendy said looking rather put out.

"Look. It's the second item for the scavenger hunt. A DNA sample from a biker with a picture. I figured if you took the picture, not only could I not be accused of Photoshopping it, but I'd have a live witness to back me up," he knew better than to give her the smile, only Nick could get away with flashing the pearly whites at the lab ladies, so instead he put his best sad panda face on.

It worked because Wendy held out her hand for the camera and Greg handed it over with glee.

Marissa, the lady biker, was probably the most pleasant they had dealt with all night long. She gave her statement and sample (allowing a picture with Greg taking it), and even posed for a shot with Greg. While they were standing together, she slipped a card in his pocket with her number and gave him a wink as she walked off.

"Think you'll win?" Wendy asked as they packed up the Denali to head back.

"I hope so," Greg smiled and closed the doors. "If not, at least I've got a possible source of comfort for my loss."

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	8. Chapter Seven: Hodges

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_geeklove4eva ran Hodges through the mill. _

Hodges was tempted at first to mention the game to the other techs, a show of just how privileged he actually was. But that was squashed by the image of Grissom's face, eyes bright with anger, frown fraught in disappointment. Hodges couldn't take that kind of look from his hero. He hadn't gotten it yet (or at least he told himself that) and he wasn't about to start getting it now. Not with three days vacation on the line.

His eyes wandered back to the envelope and he checked his watch. Fifteen minutes until his break. Just as he started his planning he was startled by a voice.

"Why do you look constipated?" Mandy said, walking up to him, "Wait, I know that look. You're up to something."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hodges said slowly, tucking the envelope under a folder.

"Give it up, Hodge-podge; you can't keep secrets from me.

He shot her a look then looked to his hands. Most days that may have been true, but he finally shook his head, "It's almost my break. Can't a man dream about his double beef and potato burrito with extra guac in peace?"

"No."

"Don't you have work to do?" he glared in Mandy's direction but was only met with a playful grin.

"Don't you?"

"Never doubt my ability to get things done," he motioned to a stack of papers at the edge of his desk, "Now leave."

"I'm on to you David Hodges," Mandy said as he got up and pushed her towards the door, then in a dramatic voice, "You've not seen the last of me!"

And with a laugh she was gone.

He waited for her to disappear around the corner before casting a sideways glance at the pristine white envelope slid partway under the folder. With an exasperated sigh, he finally gave in, ignoring the surge of giddiness that fluttered through him at the chance to impress the infamous Dr. Gil Grissom. A small opportunity but an opportunity nonetheless.

Eager fingers tore at the sealed paper, taking out a smaller piece of paper covered in an all-too-familiar scrawled handwriting. Hodges held the paper close, lowering himself into the chair and casting a quick glance over his shoulder to check for the prying eyes of uninvited (or in his mind, unprivileged) lab techs. Frowning a little with each word he read, Hodges made his way over the two items, finishing with a small groan. Checking the clock, Hodges took a deep breath.

_Photo posing with out of town tourists_

_Carpet sample from any casino_

The first item would be the hardest, as Hodges was far from a "people person." The second item was as simple as a wave of his lab badge, if he played it right. Rubbing his hands slowly together Hodges stood, letting a sly grin slip over his pale features. It would be hard but worth it. Especially for the prize awaiting him and only him at the end of the game. Three days vacation to spend with his Dukes of Hazzard Board game and maybe, if he could work it in, a purely intellectual and work-related dinner with Gil Grissom.

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The sun was long set over Las Vegas but the Strip was alive with lights and sound. Working the nightshift, Hodges hadn't yet grown accustomed to the night life of Sin City and already he could feel a bit of tension creeping up his spine and settling in his shoulders. He rocked his head, closing his eyes briefly as he willed the tension away. Focused for the moment Hodges started scanning the crowd, searching for a friendly face to pull aside.

Finding such a face, though, was easier said than done. After thirty minutes of wandering the Strip, Hodges had attempted only once to take a picture, but this had ended with the old bittie waking up at her machine and screaming at him to get away. He couldn't believe the nerve himself, and now he found himself sitting on a bench outside the Monte Carlo, head in his hands, wondering how he would finish in the half hour he had left of his break. He didn't even notice the pair of high-heel clad shoes step in front of him until a sweetly accented voice roused him from his thoughts.

"Poor babies, vhy are you so sad?"

Hodges slowly looked up, jaw dropping as his eyes met hers; crystal blue and inquisitive. She tucked a strand of bouncy blonde hair behind her ear and gave him a concerned smile, leaning down a little and reaching out with a well-manicured hand to touch his shoulder. Hodges sucked in a deep breath and tried to speak, but she got to it first.

"Nobody should be so sad in Las Vegas. Vould you like to talk about eet?"

She sat down beside him and leaned in, and Hodges startled, finally finding his voice, "Who are you?"

"I am Inna!" she said with a smile, sticking out her hand. Hodges cautiously took it and shook once.

"Dave Hodges. And what are you doing here?"

She frowned for a minute then shook her head, "Apparently I am helping you! Nobody should look so lost in Las Vegas!"

"I'm not... I live here. It's just..." Hodges smiled and looked away for a moment before it clicked, "Where are you from?"

"Sveden. I'm here for my brother's vedding."

"That's really out of town," Hodges mumbled.

"Vhat?"

"Nothing," Hodges grin widened and he turned to face her. Lowering his voice, he leaned in and spoke, "Sweden, huh? Inna, maybe you can help me."

Inna laughed and clapped her hands together. Hodges heart skipped a beat, but he pushed his feelings aside thinking instead of the things he could do with three days off and the beautiful woman sitting beside him. He took out his cell phone.

"I'm doing this thing," he felt ridiculous but he pushed on, "It's silly, but it's for work."

"Vork? Vhat do you do?" Inna asked.

"I work at the crime lab. With the cops, I..."

She cut him off, "You're a cop?"

"No, I work with... yes, a cop."

He lowered his gaze and pulled her close. His voice sounded grave, more serious than it usually did as he spoke, "I need to take pictures with tourists who come to the city. It's so... so we know you were here and we can help you... should anything happen."

Inna raised an eyebrow and even Hodges felt his face flush as the words came out of his mouth. But staring at this beautiful woman, how could he ever just get her to talk to him without a very good reason? If she had heard the truth it would have been the old lady at the casino all over again.

And he was sure this woman could hit harder.

"Vhat kind of things could happen?" Inna asked.

"Well, Las Vegas is very safe thanks to my fellow officers. We just like to make sure we have your picture."

"Vell, vhere is your camera?"

He held up his cell phone, "Here. It's here. If we had one of our crime scene cameras people might get suspicious."

Inna looked like she was far beyond suspicious, but she nodded slowly and ran her slender fingers through her hair. She sat up straight and threw her arm around Hodges, "Okay, take ze picture."

He fumbled with the phone, pressing a few buttons and then holding it out in front of him. He quickly snapped and then turned the phone around. The picture was perfect; her bright smile, golden hair framing her face, eyes glowing. And him, pale and scrawny and...

"Dave? Vhat now?"

Hodges choked back his fears and pulled out a small notepad he kept with him. Writing down his number he said in his smoothest voice, "You call me if you need help."

He passed the piece of paper to Inna and grinned. Inna nodded her head and took it, standing as she did so. She started to walk away, Hodges lustful eyes staring after her until she stopped and turned around.

"David, next time you might vant to take off your id," Inna shook her head and then laughed, "But you are still very cute. See you!"

And with an enthusiastic wave Inna skipped off, disappearing into the throng of tourists. Hodges sighed and slunk back into the bench. He jumped when his phone rang.

"Hodges," he said.

"Where are my results?" Nick said into the phone followed by the sound of rustling papers in the background that Hodges hated so very much.

"Don't touch anything. I'm on my way back from my break right now," Hodges clicked his phone shut and stood. He started to walk away, but he paused to take one more look at the crowd of tourists hoping to see the cute blonde staring back.

But seeing no familiar faces he kept on walking.

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Tired and a little disappointed from his earlier encounter with the woman who could possibly have been the love of his life, Hodges trudged into the crime lab and settled his elbows on Judy's counter with a huff.

"Hodges," she muttered, barely looking up from her computer.

"I have something to log with you," Hodges whispered sharply.

Judy did look up this time, raising an eyebrow and sitting back in her chair, "Yeah? Whatcha got?"

Hodges looked around before pulling out his cell phone and finding his prized picture. Looking around the hallways once more, Hodges flipped the phone in Judy's direction and grinned wildly, "One photo with an out of town tourist."

Judy huffed, "How do I know she's from out of town? She looks like the dozens of other girls you find in Vegas."

Hodges stood straight, widening his stance and looking slightly offended, "This is Inna. She's here from Sweden for her brother's wedding."

Judy eyed him doubtfully before pulling a piece of paper from a drawer in her desk. She noted the time and scribbled down his name next to the item he had brought back. Just as she was finishing his phone started to ring. Hodges held up a finger.

"Hodges."

"Dave, vhere are you?"

"Inna," Hodges heart ached at hearing her voice. He stepped away from Judy's desk, pressing the phone closer to his ear, "What's wrong?"

"My boyfriend saw you number. He's not too happy," she sighed and then said, "Maybe you can come down and explain?"

Hodges swallowed back the groan that threatened to escape his throat and then checked his watch. If anything good could come out of it, it was the extra chance to get some carpet from whatever casino's hotel she was staying at. The prize may not be a pretty girl but three days away from the lab would be nice.

"Dave?" Inna said, a little loudly.

"Where are you? I'll meet you there."

"There you are," Nick's voice boomed just down the hall and Hodge's barely heard Inna squeak out that she was at the MGM and in what room before he hung up his phone, "I've been waiting for my results for an hour."

Hodge's held his ground, facing Nick's frustration head on, "It's done. Just hold your horses, cowboy."

Nick rubbed at his chin, following Hodges when he brushed past him. Searching through his pile of paperwork, Hodges finally found what he was looking for and shoved it into Nick's hands.

"Why do you still doubt my skills?" he walked past Nick and headed to the door.

"Where are you going?" Nick called after him.

"I'm going to save a girl," Hodges said, trying not to sound as absurd as he felt.

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"Inna?" Hodges knocked on the door for a second time, shifting nervously on his feet. A second later, Inna stepped outside, quickly shutting the door behind her.

"Is everything okay?" Hodges asked softly.

"For now, yes. But... you may vant to be careful."

"I'll be alright," he tried to sound tough, but his words came out shaky and flat.

"I, uh... I maybe told my boyfriend you vere a cop. Maybe you have a badge or something?" Inna looked hopeful, but Hodges shook his head, "Vell, just tell him vhat you told me."

Hodges was shaking like a leaf. Taking a deep breath he readied himself for the onslaught of yelling and harsh words that could come from a jealous boyfriend. Instead, when Inna opened the door he was met with a large, meaty fist.

Hodges shrieked and ducked away from the punch, "I... I'm a cop!" He screamed, dodging another punch.

Inna was yelling and the buff man standing in front of her shrugged her away.

"You call him cop? He is scrawny thing!" and with a laugh from the gut the huge man lunged forward again, this time grabbing hold of Hodges' shirt. Staring up at the large beast of a man, he suddenly knew what it felt like to be the mouse caught by the cat. Looking into the man's dark eyes, Hodges tried to shrink back, but he felt the wall push up against him instead.

"You hit on my girl? Vhat kind of cop does that?"

"It's Las Vegas?" Hodges tried to explain away, but his body hit the wall again instead.

"This is vhat I do to you. First, I rip off your manhood, zen, I throw you out ze door."

Hodges started kicking, trying to free himself from the man's vice-like grip. Inna tugged at the man's arms, finally managing to get his attention.

"Just let him go. He was trying to protect me! I vas... I vas being mugged!"

Silence filled the room as the man processed this new information. Hodges breath was coming out in short, erratic spurts, his hands clutching at the hefty hands around his collar. Slowly the man turned his gaze to Hodges, "Is this true?"

"Yes, yes it is. She was being mugged!"

The man shook his head and dragged Hodges to the door, "Just stay avay, got it?"

With that, he tossed Hodges back into the hallway with an unceremonious plop. Hodges tried to catch himself but fell against the wall. From the door Inna frowned and gave him a small wave, then shut the door behind her. Hodges sighed and looked at his feet as they dangled in front of him. Suddenly he smiled and started to laugh.

Attached to the bottom of his shoe was a piece of carpet that must have been ripped up when his shoe had caught on a loose piece, a small and harmless piece of trash any other day, but today it was his ticket to freedom.

Or three days vacation time to heal from the bruises and mental anguish.

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Hobbling back into the crime lab, Hodges made his way back to Judy. In the process of being man-handled, his shirt had come untucked and his thinning locks slightly mussed. He hadn't bothered fixing up yet; he was still a bit shaky from the encounter. Besides, a little sympathy would feed his ego nicely.

Passing through reception obviously on his way to one of the labs, Grissom looked up, frowning as he took in the sight of David Hodges, "What happened to you?"

"Swedish woman. Well... never mind, you don't want to know," Hodges didn't even bother with his usual check of the area. Instead, he took the carpet out of his pocket and tossed it onto the counter in front of Judy, "Carpet. MGM."

Grissom grinned and watched Judy log in the piece of carpet, "Long night, David?"

"Oh, you have no idea. First there was this beautiful..." but Grissom held up a hand and shook his head.

"You said it yourself. I don't want to know."

Hodges watched Grissom leave before turning towards Trace and walking in the opposite direction.

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	9. Chapter Eight: Super Dave

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_Tos-Lover1 shows SuperDave becoming SuperScavenger, with ladies of the night and clever arguments._

Quiet as a morgue.

David Phillips whispered a laugh as he listened to Catherine Willow's heels clatter back down the hallway. Getting Grouchy Al's fingerprints in the middle of his night off—his _unscheduled_ night off, Dave sourly reminded himself—well, rather her than him, that was for sure.

But the good thing about unscheduled time off for Doc Robbins was the benefits it had for David. He could be pretty sure that Grissom hadn't okayed with Doc the three days time off he'd be receiving for winning this scavenger hunt, but he was also pretty sure that this evening of double-duty circus clown gone postal Hell in the morgue would secure Doc Robbins' approval for the days.

And tonight the bodies were lined up down the hall.

A familiar vibration rumbled against his hip as he slid his most recent decedent into the wall and closed the door. He pulled his pager up, _419 Lexi's Lounge. _He smiled. Two birds, one stone. There was no way he wouldn't find a napkin with a kiss print or at least someone intoxicated enough to give up her platform heel at a place with a name like that.

He crossed the morgue and took a moment to admire Doctor Hill, bent over the torso of a male gunshot victim and painstakingly sewing up his chest. "Got another one, Doc. John is still out, picking up the stabbing vics. I'll take care of this one."

Some nights during the summer, David could swear he could sniff his way to his dead bodies. But not this one. No one at dispatch could find him the exact location of _Lexi's_, and time was ticking by. It took an officer on the scene to call him with directions and by the time he got there, the witness interviews were well underway.

For a motorcycle bar, the parking lot was full of cars and he wondered where the leather-clad witnesses bikes were. He nodded carefully as he stepped past them into the building. The officers across the room waved him over. And as he crossed to the victim (easily spotted by the Craftsman, red handled screwdriver protruding from his forehead), Dave watched two men walk away from him with their hands pasted on the others' butt.

There would be no lipstick and certainly no ladies shoes found here.

He bent down and began processing the body, taking the liver temp, checking belongings and looking for any other signs of harm, even though he was pretty sure what the cause of death was. He gave his findings to the CSI from Swing and walked outside to wait for her to process the body.

Damn. He could be here a while, extraordinary injuries usually meant longer processing time. He stared at the donut store across the street. He shouldn't. He promised his wife he'd stop having a late night snack; and he'd been really good, but the aroma of freshly baking dough moved his feet for him and before he knew it, the bell on the door to the store that boasted "Vegas's hottest donuts" was jangling and he was standing in line behind a prostitute who was ordering a chocolate éclair, heavy on the filling.

Fresh, warm, puffy lovely donuts.

He was having a Homer Simpson moment and he didn't hear the prostitute in front of him ask him for a quarter until she turned around to face him, her cherry red and glistening lips enunciating the words as if she thought he had a disability.

She raised her voice and her arms to get his attention. "Sugar…can…I…borrow…a…quarter?"

Snapped back to the present by the thought of those lips pressing against rough fibers, he quickly dug around in his front pockets. Empty. "Sorry, ma'am. I don't have one."

The woman stomped a perfectly maintained zebra-print knee high boot.

"But, you know what, let me just buy you your pastry."

"Aw, sweety, you're cute, but ain't no chocolate Eee-Clare gonna buy you any chocolate Maddy."

His flush was already there, but it deepened. He paused and tried to grapple his thoughts before he spoke, "Oh no. No. I mean. Well. I didn't. I wasn't thinking that." He stopped for a deep breath. "What I meant to say was I need a kiss." Christ, why was this so hard?

The hooker's indignant stare was unnerving.

"It's for a scavenger hunt. A kissprint. On a napkin." Feeling bolder, he reached out and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and held it out to her. "This napkin."

She took it from him with fingers sporting highly polished nails. "Why sugar, now that I can do." She winked deeply at him, making his subsiding blush blossom once more. "But it's gonna cost you two Eee-Clares."

He felt a moment of guilt as he watched her press the napkin to her lips, and he wasn't sure if it was over the voyeuristic pleasure stirring within him or because his salivary glands had kicked into serious overdrive at the mere aroma of donuts. Well, at least Julie would forgive him the latter; one donut was well worth an extra three days off.

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David yawned as he pulled the van into the covered garage. Like clockwork on a busy night, cars that were obviously not in use to transport dead bodies occupied the reserved parking spaces for the morgue vans. He parked further from the elevator than he preferred and began to unload his cargo to wheel it into the morgue.

"YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

He spun around to locate the source of the screeching, and found it about twenty yards away coming from an obviously drunk woman as she struggled to walk and take off her shoe at the same time.

A tall, dark and large man followed her at a safe distance. Dave sighed and pushed the gurney back into the van and closed the door. He approached the woman with caution as she sat down heavily and tore off her shoe and launched it. For someone so drunk she had good range and aim. However, her companion sidestepped the footwear missile.

Dave held up his hand to the man and crouched next to the woman. This one wasn't a prostitute, but she had the air about her of someone who had been around the block a fair few times and wasn't afraid of anyone.

"Ma'am. Can I help you? I work for the police department. Are you in trouble?"

She turned angry blue eyes framed by running mascara on him. "You work for those cocksuckers who arrested me." Her voice grew so loud it made Dave wince. "That piece of crap over there," she pointed at the man who was approaching cautiously. "That piece of crap", her eyes seemed to lose even more focus, if that was possible, and brimmed with more tears. "He said….he said," she looked away, "oh, what does it matter? You're all cocksuckers." She began to sob again.

Lost for words, Dave slowly began to rise as the man kneeled opposite her. The man helped her to her feet with a mixture of resentment and tenderness and pulled her against him as she wobbled unevenly on one foot. In one shared glance Dave understood his misery and saw the countless nights like this one, relived over and over again.

He watched after them for a moment as they struggled away and sighed as he went back to his van to pull out the dead body. He paused to check for any more unauthorized folks before pulling the gurney out and pointing it towards the elevator. Pushing briskly, Dave tapped out a beat with his fingertips to the squeak of the wheel echoing off the garage walls.

Immersed in the rhythm and moving faster than he should, by the time Dave noticed the obstruction lying in his path all he had time to do was brace himself as it lodged under the gurney's wheel and sent him sprawling forward over the body bag. The gurney was by no means light and he breathlessly scrambled back to grapple it as it teetered on two wheels, on the brink of tipping itself and its passengers to the concrete. In a heroic effort of counterbalance, Dave threw himself back into the arms of the dead body and jerked all of his weight against the tip. He only allowed the huge rush of adrenaline to run its course as the gurney settled back into a stable position.

He was an unsteady mess when he slipped from the stretcher to find what had caused the near crash. And as he pulled out the object with a still slightly trembling hand, he couldn't help the large smile from spreading across his face. A tray of Krispy Kreme donuts wouldn't have been more welcome to him than the tall, wedged platform shoe he now held in his hand. This was a very good night.

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Just after his shift ended, as he shrugged off his lab coat for the night, his phone rang. It was Grissom.

"Hey, Dave. You brought me a platform shoe."

He couldn't keep the smile from his face. "Yes."

"A right platform shoe." He thought there was a grim tone beneath Grissom's usual calm.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Dave." There was a pause, "but the note I gave you was for a _left_ platform shoe."

Smiling, he reached for his jacket. "Well, Dr. Grissom, it was left. It was left…in the parking lot for me to scavenge."

He could almost hear the older man smirk. "Good work, David."

"Do I get the three days?" He balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder as he struggled to push his arm through the jacket's sleeve.

"I'll be generous and give partial credit…napkin with lip stick print was half of your assignments. You get a day and a half for that. A platform shoe but the wrong kind…let's say you get half credit for that, which would be ¾ of a day." The assistant coroner could hear what sounded like a pen scratching against paper on the other end of the phone. "That brings us to two and one quarter days of vacation. Presenting your argument creatively is worth some points…I am awarding you the three days of vacation. The only caveat is you have to clear it with Doc Robbins."

Dave glanced at the head coroner's desk, where a bag with two apple fritters and a fried cherry pie sat in a "stay fresh" sack. "No problem Dr. Grissom. I've got it in the bag."

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	10. Chapter Nine: Sara

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_plkphoto_ _shows Sara bargaining with the best._

Sara pulled an envelope from the pile and tore it open to read:

Prize Token from CircusCircus

Celebrity Autograph

She stared blankly at the paper for a moment, hoping that it might change or perhaps provide her with some suggestions. The CircusCircus ticket sounded relatively easy, until she thought back to what Grissom had said, "trade, borrow, or rent." Winning a ticket herself likely counted as buying.

Maybe she'd be able to find one that someone had dropped or left behind in one of the machines. Either way, it was pretty straightforward, and she knew where she had to go once she finished her accidental death report from the night before.

The second item, however, was much more daunting. Sure, celebrities regularly came to Vegas. And sure, someone like Greg or Archie would probably know exactly where and how to get an autograph in an instant. But Sara had never been that excited about following popular culture or collecting mementos for those artists she did like. She had no idea how to go about getting an autograph.

Maybe she could borrow something. She glanced around the room at the others who were gathering assignments or peering at their envelopes. Greg and Archie were most likely to have something, but both were very competitive and unlikely to lend it to her.

Sara wandered over to the coffee maker, hoping inspiration would strike, and grabbed a mug at random from the drainer. As she held it up to breathe in the wonderful aroma of Greg's Blue Hawaiian, she glanced at the picture on it. A tan horse with a golden mane raced across the green fields, a fence far in the distance. Picturesque, but rather cheesy.

Sara's gaze sharpened, suddenly, as she realized exactly where she could get a celebrity autograph. She glanced around the room, but Grissom had already left. Leaving her coffee by the report, she strode off through the corridors in search of him. She glanced through the glass walls to make sure he wasn't in each of the labs as she passed them on the way to his office.

As she rounded the last corner, Grissom stepped out of his office with his kit in hand, shutting the door behind him.

"Hey, Grissom?" she called, and waited until he turned toward her. His expression said that he was in a bit of a hurry, but she asked anyway, "You got a minute?"

"Actually, I'm on my way to a scene," he said, waving his assignment slip through the air as evidence. He motioned down the hall as Sara came up beside him, and they started walking toward the exit. "Can it wait or do you need me right now?"

She shook her head, "No, no. It can wait."

"You sure? Because you can ride with me and we can talk on the way."

They had reached the exit, and he paused a moment to check her expression. She smiled back at him. "I'm sure. I just wanted to ask you something about one of my scavenger hunt items. Besides, I have that report I need to finish."

He nodded. "This shouldn't take long. I'll let you know when I'm done."

Sara nodded her agreement, then waved as he headed out the door. She turned and retraced her steps back toward the break room, mentally shifting gears from thoughts of the scavenger hunt to details of last night's case. A young girl had died in a tragic accident and Sara wanted to complete her paperwork as quickly as possible so the family could lay her to rest.

She lost herself in the work, describing the evidence and filling in the appropriate timeline. People passed by in the corridor outside, but she barely registered their presence as she worked.

After she finished the last paragraph, Sara gathered her paperwork into its folder and rinsed her coffee mug. There was no sign that Grissom was back yet, so she decided to hit the restroom, leaving the folder lying on the table.

When she returned, she caught a glimpse of Grissom leaving the break room with a steaming mug of coffee. She quickly gathered her report folder from the break room then headed toward his office.

Grissom was already sitting at his desk with his laptop open, likely going through evidence from his scene. She had leaned against the doorway and was preparing to knock, when he looked up and smiled then beckoned her to sit across from him. As she lowered herself into the seat, he closed his laptop presumably to give her his full attention.

"So," he asked quietly, "what's up?"

"Well I finished my report." She handed it across the desk to him. "And, uh, I was wondering if I could borrow your Trigger ownership certificate for a little while." She could feel herself blush slightly as she realized the oddness of this request. Of course, he had planned the hunt, so he probably knew exactly why she was asking. His next comment confirmed it.

"Are we bartering here?"

She really had no idea what to trade him for it, unless she had an item he needed. She decided to see what she could get away with. She shook her head, "No. I don't want to keep it. I just want to borrow it for a couple hours."

His grin looked more than slightly mischievous. "Sara, if I give it to you without getting something in return, then the others can rightfully accuse me of favoritism or claim that I helped you. We have to play by the rules."

Sara huffed in frustration, mumbling, "Borrowing's within the rules." But, she did see his point. There was a fine line between borrowing and helping, especially if both were in the hunt. His eyes twinkled in response, and she wondered what she was getting herself into.

"Okay," she acceded, "I'll rent the stupid thing from you from now until the end of shift. How ..."

Grissom's expression abruptly changed from playful to absolutely mortified, with a touch of genuine hurt in his eyes. She let her voice trail off.

"Stupid?" he asked, his voice indignant.

Sara couldn't help but roll her eyes, then she remembered the little boy glee with which he had described getting the certificate the first time they talked, and she smiled in amusement.

He misinterpreted her mirth and slowly shook his head, glaring at her in disapproval. "You think my Trigger certificate is stupid?"

Realizing that this wasn't the best way to convince him to lend the thing to her, she quickly backed down. Lest someone hear, she whispered, "Come on, Babe." She barely managed to suppress the urge to stroke his cheek, and actually leaned forward slightly raising her hand onto his desk.

She continued in her normal voice, "You know I don't really think it's stupid. I'm just a little frustrated right now because you have what I need and you're messing with me." She dropped her voice again, looking straight into his eyes, "It's cute and sentimental just like you."

He grinned at that, and she smiled softly back to show her sincerity. Before they got completely side-tracked and forgot that they were still at work, she broke the moment. "Okay, then. Now that we have that settled, how much?" She sighed at his slight look of confusion and shook her head. "How much is it going to cost to buy my way out of this?"

A smirk blossomed on Grissom's face. "What do you have to offer?"

Sara glared at him slightly, more than a little suspicious. "I've got seven dollars in my purse, or I can go to the ATM for more if you..."

Grissom shook his head, and cut her off with a wave of his hand. "I don't want your money, Sara." His voice dropped suggestively as he asked, "What else are you willing to give me?"

She stared at him, trying to read his expression, and unable to believe that he would delve into the personal at work. Then again, this morning she would never have guessed that he'd stage a lab-wide scavenger hunt. While she enjoyed the new relaxed Gil she was seeing away from work, it was a little disconcerting to see that personality in the Grissom of the lab.

She thought a moment, then replied, "What about... a full night together? No scanners, no pagers, no cell phones. Just us and the dog and the movie of your choice."

He shook his head slowly. "Since I make the schedules, that is something I'd be doing for us, not something you would be doing for me."

"O-okay." She drew the word out, thinking. "How about you arrange that night off and I'll --" she paused, glancing out the open doorway to make sure no one was nearby, then dropped her voice slightly, "be your sex slave for the night. Anything you want, kinky or not."

"Sara, honey." He coughed to clear his voice, then leaned over to check the hall a second time. He leaned back and rubbed his neck, flushing in embarrassment or arousal, she couldn't tell which, before continuing softly, "You would do that anyway and enjoy it just as much as I would, if not more. Again, that would be something for us."

"Well..." She raised an eyebrow. "What about the reverse, then? I'll tie you up and you can be my sex slave for a night."

"I would do that... if... you wanted me to," he admitted, his voice growing a little rough and the blush spreading further across his face.

Sara felt her eyes widen in shock, and gripped her knees to control her desire to try it right now. Aroused, her mind raced through possible scenarios as she watched his face to check his sincerity. Under her stare, he grew more nervous, and fumbled with the pager on his desk, but softly confirmed, "All you have to do is ask."

She traded a lust filled glance with him, then smirked, and mentally filed that knowledge away for a later date.

Grissom blew out a long breath, the flush fading, and continued in a more clinical tone, "Your sexual favors and skills, while admittedly mind-blowing, sensual and very loving; each blessed with their own unique charms and flavors, are not the way to go this time."

Sara smiled and blushed, pleased that he thought so. Then she shook her head slightly as she realized she was supposed to be getting something from him.

His moratorium on sexual related favors narrowed it down a lot. Sara tried to think of what else would interest him. "Okay, what about a tour of the Vegas coasters. We'll hit every one of them and I promise not to complain or get sick on you."

Grissom just raised a skeptical eyebrow, and shook his head. "Somehow the very real possibility of you depositing a regurgitated veggie burger in my lap, no matter how involuntarily, tends to put a damper on that idea."

Sara grinned slightly at the truth of that statement. "Ummm..." She glanced around the room for inspiration, but mostly saw work related items, insects, and books. Suddenly her gaze landed on his CD player. "How about a night at the opera? Just the two of us? We can get all dressed up, go out for a ridiculously expensive dinner, and just hang out until the fat lady sings?"

His head shake was a little more vigorous this time, and she threw up her hands in resignation, wondering what on earth he could possibly want.

"Sara, you know me better than anyone. Everything you are now suggesting are things that Greg or Hodges could come up with. Use that beautiful brain of yours and figure out something that you and only you would know I would enjoy. Something uniquely... I don't know..." He paused, thinking. Then resumed, punctuating the last word with a set of air quotes, "Grissomesque."

She smirked and stifled a giggle, wondering if she'd ever seen him use that gesture before. "'Grissomesque?' Is that even a word?"

Grissom's light glare was interrupted by a loud buzz from his pager as it rattled across his desk. Sara couldn't help but feel relieved that she didn't have to come up with an answer on the spot, but stayed seated as he held up a finger to keep her there.

He finished reading the display and looked back up at her. "Trick roll at CircusCircus." He sighed softly. "Sofia is at the scene. Do you want it or should I get someone else?" he asked as he tossed the pager back onto his desk.

She felt that this must be providential, but wondered why he would actually ask her if she wanted it. He got to pick the assignments, and she had just handed him her report so he knew she was free.

Her puzzlement must have shown on her face because he added, "I have a feeling we are not quite finished with this conversation."

"Oh." She thought about their resolution to keep the personal out of work and her need to make it over to CircusCircus anyway. "We'll just, uh, suspend it for a moment. I think a trip to CircusCircus might do me some good. Though I do wonder what kind of sicko would bring his 'trick' back to a family oriented hotel, and can't help but think that maybe he deserved to get 'rolled' for that." She grinned at him briefly, then rose from her seat. "You keep that Trigger certificate handy. I'm sure I'll have the perfect trade figured out before the end of the shift."

Grissom waved her off, then opened his laptop when she turned to leave. As she passed through the doorway, he called after her, "Yeah, well, it better be something good to make up for that 'stupid' remark."

Sara turned back to smirk at him, then headed to her office for her kit.

As she drove toward CircusCircus, she tried to think of things that she had discovered about Grissom that the others were unlikely to know. He loved to cook, and his kitchen was well stocked with the best kitchenware. Maybe he'd like to teach her, though that could prove disastrous and would likely be more work than fun for him.

He definitely liked fine literature and art, but that was something known at the lab, at least in a general sense. She might have a better sense of the specific authors and artists that he liked, though.

For a moment, she wondered if there was anything showing in town that would make a suitable date, then realized that she was as likely to get shot down over any kind of art as she had been over the opera. More so, actually, because the other forms of art he enjoyed would also be an enjoyment for her. She smiled as she thought about checking anyway, just for something a little different on their next night off.

"Okay, what does he like that the lab doesn't know about and that I wouldn't normally do?" she asked the dashboard. It had no answers.

When she reached the room where the crime had occurred, she was no nearer to finding a solution that she thought he would accept. Sofia was already interviewing the victim, a young man with tousled hair, wearing a white terrycloth robe emblazoned with the CircusCircus logo. Sara nodded at the detective and set down her kit.

Luckily, after years as a crime scene investigator, collecting evidence for a case like this was second nature to Sara. She went through the motions of collecting trace evidence and exclusionary prints as she listened to the victim's statement, taking photographs of the room, and processing a multitude of fingerprints and DNA samples. Meanwhile, her mind was wandering, as she tried to figure out how she could slip unobtrusively over to the Midway game area to look for a prize ticket.

After she finished processing the room, they left the man alone to think about the consequences of believing the "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" slogan.

Sara turned to Sofia as they rode down the elevator. "Hey, would you mind taking this stuff back to the lab and logging it in?" Sara lifted the evidence bag slightly. "I've really got to get something to eat and they've got a great deli here. After what happened with Nick I don't want to leave the stuff in my car, but I can grab you something if you'd like." She suddenly realized that she might be over-talking in her slight nervousness at doing something technically unrelated to work, and forced herself to stop.

Sofia didn't seem to notice, though. "That's no problem. I've already eaten, but I'll take a rain-check on that offer."

Sara nodded and handed her the bag of evidence as the elevator doors opened, but kept hold of her kit. "Thank you. I'll see you back at the station."

As she cruised the midway, her eyes peeled for any hint of a prize ticket lying unspotted on the floor or sticking from an unattended machine, Sara couldn't help but feel grateful that it was the middle of the night. She imagined that the place would be filled with screaming masses of children during the day, but now it was relatively peaceful.

Unfortunately the ones who remained were obviously serious gamers, each trying to collect enough tickets for whichever of the larger prizes had caught his or her eye. Vulture-like, they missed no opportunity to snatch up an abandoned ticket, and Sara soon found that her skills were not up to theirs in this matter.

She cast about for another solution as she wandered closer to the prize booth. These ticket sharks didn't seem to be likely candidates for a barter, either. At least, not in a trade for anything she could possibly possess.

Gathered around the prizes was a flock of children younger than the rest that she had seen and all wearing pointed birthday hats. Most looked to be around eleven or twelve, but one youngster couldn't have been more than six, likely the younger brother of the birthday boy or girl. Three frazzled parents stood by as the children tried to decide what toys they most wanted to get with their ticket strings. The fourth parent was trying to reason with the youngest, who was obviously tired and whiny.

Sara moved closer, listening to their conversation.

"But I want that one!"

"Dear, you only have one ticket. That one costs ten, you can have anything in this pile, though." The woman ran her hands through her hair, causing it to frizz outward an inch further.

"But those are boring! I want that one!" The boy's lower lip began to tremble. "Let's get more tickets, then."

The woman sighed, "What did we say at the beginning? Five dollar limit, and that's it. You used up all your money, so no more tickets." She shook her head as the boy prepared to argue again. "That was the deal. You can get something from that pile or you can keep the ticket, but no more quarters."

The boy seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, but the tears spilled out anyway. Obviously embarrassed to cry near his older friends, he turned away from his mother, muttering, "Those are stupid."

He walked away from the group, pouting, only to almost run into Sara. Suddenly he looked up and caught sight of her vest, and his eyes opened wide, tears subsiding. An idea slowly began to form in Sara's mind, and she smiled at the boy.

"Are you with the police?" the boy asked. When Sara nodded, he looked absolutely terrified, and stuttered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do anything bad."

Sara couldn't help but laugh, then she stooped down to his level. "I'm not here because you did anything bad."

His mother suddenly noticed that he was talking to a stranger, and hurried over, then sighed in relief when Sara stood and flashed her badge. The woman started to stammer an apology, but Sara waved her off.

"He's fine," Sara assured her.

"Was there a crime here?" the woman asked, glancing around nervously.

Sara thought quickly. This could be her chance. "No, ma'am. Actually, I'm interested in talking to your son here for a little while. You see, I'm a crime scene investigator and it's the birthday for a very important person to the field of forensics, so we're trying to celebrate a little and spread the word about this valuable science." She paused and looked down at the young boy who was staring at her badge in fascination. "I thought maybe I could tell this young man a little story about investigation while the rest of your party collect their prizes."

The woman nodded her consent and her relief, then went back to stand with the other parents, probably explaining what had happened.

Sara stooped down again, then sat on her kit. "So, would you like to hear a story?"

The boy nodded, and sat on the floor in front of her. Sara noticed that both the parents and the other children were watching them, but she kept her attention on the boy.

"I'm going to tell you the story about how we catch bad guys, okay?"

The boy nodded vigorously, and Sara smiled. Maybe this would work after all.

"Well, today is the birthday of this very smart man named Edmond. He was really good at catching bad guys, and he had a theory. He said that every time we touch something, or go somewhere, we leave behind a piece of ourselves and pick up a piece of the place we visited. Sometimes it's just a little hair or the mark of our finger. So when a person does something bad, then a person like me or Edmond can come along afterward and find this evidence. And if we do find it, then we can use it to show other people who the bad guy was."

"But how can you tell?" the boy asked.

Before Sara could answer, the question was repeated several times, and she looked up to see that the rest of the birthday party had gathered around, their prizes forgotten. She glanced at the parents, who smiled back at her and nodded for her to continue.

"Well," she started, "that's the real story. A long time ago, before Edmond came up with his theory and before people knew how to search for bad guys, there was another very smart man that lived in a small village. One day, a man was..." Sara paused briefly, discarding the term "murdered" in the presence of her young audience, then continued, "He was hurt badly and covered with cuts from a sharp shovel."

Sara stopped as a chorus of "oh no" broke out.

"No one knew who did it, and the man couldn't tell them." She glanced around at the wide eyes. "Well, this smart man lived in the village, and he said, 'I will be able to tell you who did it. Everyone come to the village center tomorrow at midday, bring your shovels, and I will tell you who it was.' Well, the bad guy didn't believe him. He thought he was safe because his shovel was covered in dirt, just like all the other shovels. He didn't think it looked any different than before."

Sara paused again to make sure there were no questions, but the children were all watching in suspense, waiting to hear if the smart man really did catch the bad guy. "The next day at noon everyone came to the center of the village with their shovels, including this bad guy. All the shovels looked the same. No one could tell who did it by looking, and they waited for the smart man to come."

"Now, the smart man, he waited just a little while before he came, letting the sun warm up the shovels as the men stood waiting for him. Then he came out, and he looked at the shovels. One of them had a swarm of flies buzzing over it, but not the others." Sara looked at each of them in turn. "Then the smart man pointed at the man with the flies landing all over his shovel, and he said, 'That is the man who did this bad thing.'"

The children gasped. "How did he know?" asked the youngest.

Sara smiled at him. "Well, the people in the village, they asked that same thing. And the man said, 'See the flies? They tell me that there is blood on that shovel, for flies like blood but they do not like dirt.' And that was the very first time that someone used the trace left behind by a person doing a bad thing to find out exactly who did it."

"Wow!"

And then much later, this man named Edmond realized that there's always a trace, so we can always find the person if we know where to look. And Edmond made it into a science so he could teach other people how to do it the same way that he did."

Sara pulled a handful of swabs from her vest pocket, counting them swiftly. There were ten older children in addition to the young man that she had begun speaking to, and she had twelve swabs. She smiled in satisfaction before continuing the story.

"Well, today, we don't have to always rely on flies, though they can still help us out sometimes." She held up one of the swabs, opening it up. "Instead we use these special sticks."

She held the swab close to the youngest boy. "This fuzzy part here is really sticky, especially if you put a little water on it, and it can pick up anything that you find and want to know what it is. So you can use it to pick up a little bit of a spot, then find out if it's dirt or blood or ketchup by putting it in a special machine later."

"Then, after you collect a tiny bit of the spot, you can close it like this." Sara closed the swab into it's container again. "And the plastic part protects it so that nothing else gets on there to confuse you. When you get back to the machine, you can put it in to see what you found."

She looked up at the other children who were hovering close to see this wonderful instrument, and she smiled at them. "It's almost like magic," one of them whispered.

Sara nodded her agreement. "Yes, it's almost like magic."

She turned back to the youngest. "I tell you what," she said, "I'll give you these in exchange for your prize ticket, if you want." She held up the handful.

"I want one!"

"Me too!"

"Yeah, and me!"

The other children gathered closer. Sara pretended to consider it, then looked at the youngest boy again. "Well, I offered them to this young man first, so he'll have to decide. Maybe you can use your tickets afterward to buy one from him."

The young boy's eyes lit up as he realized that he could get something the others didn't have yet, and he nodded vigorously, holding out his ticket. Sara took the ticket and handed him the remaining eleven swabs, then looked up to see the parents smiling as the young boy was mobbed by the older children offering him tickets for these "magic sticks."

Sara stood and walked over to the adults. "Thank you for allowing me a little bit of your time."

"No, thank you!" the frazzled mother said. "But, what was that all about with the ticket? It was such a great idea."

Sara glanced over toward the prize booth where the youngest boy was happily getting the toy he wanted with his newly won tickets. She chuckled softly. "Actually, it's a part of a scavenger hunt, but I only needed one ticket."

The parents nodded knowingly, then they each shook her hand and walked off to gather their charges.

Sara grinned as she collected her kit and headed toward the elevator. Even the smallest thing could seem miraculous with the proper build up, and now she was one item down.

As she headed toward her car, she turned her mind back toward the problem of convincing Grissom to give up his beloved Trigger certificate. Buoyed up by her success with the children, she felt sure that she could crack the entomologist.

Driving down the strip it suddenly hit her, and she murmured, "Even the smallest thing can seem miraculous with the proper build up... Entomology. That's the key."

When Sara arrived back at the lab, she first checked to make sure that Sofia had logged the evidence already, then she headed straight for Grissom's office. He was right, she did know him, and he knew her. He would know that this wouldn't be her favorite activity if she was given the choice, and so he couldn't complain that this was something she was offering to both of them.

As for his second complaint, that Hodges and Greg shouldn't be able to come up with it, she didn't think the other people in the lab really understood his childlike fascination with all insects. To them, it was just part of his job, and his excitement was no different than finding that perfect clue, whatever it might be.

But Sara knew how he responded to a new insect flying in their porch light at night or crawling across their bedroom floor. And he knew her usual disinterest or even disgust at the same occurrence. Yes, this would be the perfect trade.

Grissom was still sitting at his desk, trying to force a stack of photos into a folder, a steaming cup of coffee indicating that he had been back to the break room recently. Sara tapped lightly on the door frame and he looked up, then set the folder to the side and beckoned her in, raising an eyebrow in question.

Sara decided not to bother sitting, sure of her success, but she walked over to his desk so they could speak without out eavesdroppers hearing what was said.

"Okay. This is my final offer, then, I'm going elsewhere." Her grin probably ruined the threat, but she couldn't force it from her face. "Picture this." She allowed her voice to slip into a rhythmic tale-telling cadence, "You and me, a day of freedom spent on an insect expedition. We can go to the park of your choice for a nice afternoon strolling at an entomologist's pace, looking at everything that catches your eye. A nice picnic at sunset will attract lots of bees and ants for your enjoyment. Then we'll take out your spotlight and a white sheet and see what nocturnal fliers are drawn to the glow."

Sara paused to gauge his reaction. Grissom was gazing across the room vacantly, obviously visualizing her idea. She continued in her normal voice, "Same deal as before, no pagers and no cell phones to interrupt us. And..." she drew the word out and paused for effect. "I promise not to complain and to listen as avidly as when I was your student to anything you want to tell me about each and every insect we find. You can test me afterward if you want."

She watched as his gaze moved to focus back on her, and a slow grin spread across his face. "Accepted," he said, and pulled his Trigger ownership certificate from a drawer, handing it to her with a flourish.

Sara beamed as she looked down at it. She had actually managed to get both of her items, and, if she told the truth, she was probably looking forward to the day of insect watching as much as he was. She'd never admit that to him, though.

As Grissom cleared his throat, she looked back up at him. Softly, he reminded her, "There may be questions as to how you managed to get this away from me. What are you going to tell them?"

She had forgotten about that in her excitement. She frowned, and chewed on her lip, trying to think of a plausible excuse. Something her teammates would believe.

"I'll just tell them that I offered to log all of your evidence for the next month. I doubt anyone will actually take the time to check to see whether or not I really do it."

Grissom nodded slowly in agreement. Sara smiled briefly, then turned to leave. Grissom's soft voice stopped her before she reached the door, "Sara?" She turned back, hearing the slightly vulnerable tone and wondering if he was going to warn her to be careful with his certificate, but then he continued. "Anything I have is yours, you know that right? No strings attached."

A warm rush flooded through her. They never talked much about their feelings, but every once in a while he would say something that completely blew her away. Unable to find the words to show how much that meant to her, she simply smiled her warmest smile, nodding slowly. "Yeah," she whispered, "I do."

She savored his small loving smile for a moment, then continued out the door as he turned his attention to the paperwork piled on his desk.

Sara allowed herself to bask for a moment as she headed for Judy's desk with her two items. Luckily no one saw the silly grin on her face, because it might have been hard to pass the amorous quality off as simple joy at finding her items.

She quickly handed the items off to Judy, warning her to be careful with the certificate as it was a rental. Judy smirked at her, likely she knew exactly to whom the certificate belonged. Sara smiled back, then headed off to finish her shift. Looking for a specific trick-rolling hooker in Vegas was like looking for a needle in a hay stack, but she had to at least try.

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	11. Chapter Ten: Grissom

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_Cropper __gives us Grissom, the master at work._

Grissom tossed the remaining envelopes on his desk and sighed. He hadn't expected Catherine to follow him all the way back to his office chewing his ear off about one of her items. This was supposed to be fun, something different to break up the monotony of the shift. This was not supposed to erode into an evening of "Chew Grissom's Ass Off."

He sighed again, clearing his mind. He knew he could not dwell on Catherine's reaction any longer. He had a crime scene to get to and items of his own to track down. He spared a moment to rip open his own envelope and huffed a small chuckle when he read his own handwriting. The fates were favoring him this evening. One of the items on his list was currently nestled inside his glove compartment where he had hurriedly stuffed it about a month ago following a speaking engagement.

The other?

Grissom glanced again at the assignment slip in on his desk. Perfect. He could kill two birds with one stone. He grabbed his kit and headed for the door before pausing and returning to his desk. He slid open the middle desk drawer and slipped a small camera in his jacket pocket.

"Hey Grissom?"

He paused after closing his door to see Sara hurrying to catch up with him. She was almost abreast of him when he started making his way down the hall towards the exit, motioning her to walk with him.

"You got a minute?"

"Actually," he said, waving his assignment slip in the air, "I'm on my way to a scene. Can it wait or do you need me right now?"

"No, no. It can wait."

"You sure? Because you can ride with me and we can talk on the way."

"I'm sure. I just wanted to ask you something about one of my scavenger hunt items. Besides, I have that report I need to finish."

"This shouldn't take long. I'll let you know when I'm done."

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Sofia was waiting for him as he pulled up to the main entrance of Caesar's Palace. She briefed him in short, clipped tones as the pair briskly made their way through the crowded casino to a private hall that led to the entertainers' dressing rooms.

"Here's what we know so far. Apparently someone forced the lock on one of the dressing rooms while the entertainers were on stage and took several personal items."

"What kind of personal items and what kind of entertainers are the victims?" Grissom asked as they paused before a large door decorated with ten golden stars.

"The items are purses," Sofia replied, pausing just a minute for dramatic effect, "and the victims are the burlesque dancers from the 'Follies Revue'.''

"The 'Follies'?" Grissom wanted to make sure that he had heard her correctly as they opened the door and stepped into a world of organized chaos.

Mirrors lined two of the room's longer walls and the white light glaring from the bulbs surrounding the mirrors raised the temperature in the room by a good five degrees. The actual performers, ten gorgeous, long-legged women were milling about chatting or making minor hair or costume adjustments.

Grissom absorbed the tableau before him, feeling thoroughly male and utterly out of place. The dancers' costumes, if the scraps of fabric they were wearing actually qualified as such, consisted of a sequined G-string, one feather boa and a pair of glittering gold star pasties. The pasties seemed to magically catch the light at every turn and the accompanying black tassels added to the sensuality of each woman.

The pasties definitely grabbed his attention and Grissom chuckled silently to himself about the blatant symbology of the whole situation. The pentagram, the star, the symbol of the scared feminine. He thought it was very fitting that these women chose to celebrate their feminine power and mystique with such a powerful symbol of womanhood. Sara would look stunning in those, the black tassels contrasting against her pale skin and he wondered briefly if she would consider wearing something like that in private.

Grissom was looking around, trying to get his bearings when an older woman clad in a pair of black leggings and a skin-tight black turtle neck sweater sauntered up and gave him a firm swat on the ass.

"Hello Dr. Grissom," the woman purred, noting his startled reaction with a satisfied grin. "I've wanted to do that for years."

"Hello, Cora. It's good to see you again."

Cora Smathers, director and choreographer of the Revue, was an old friend. He had helped solve a case several years in the past where a serial rapist was stalking her dancers. She was extremely grateful for his help and the two had remained in touch.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and Sofia began to speak with the dancers. She started by asking the most obvious questions - if they had happened to notice anyone hanging around lately that did not belong or if anything out of the ordinary had happened in the past couple of days.

Kacey, a stunning blonde with legs longer than Sara, if such a thing was actually possible, spoke up.

"Funny you should ask. I had a run in with a really skanky dude outside the dressing room last night."

"Excuse me?" Grissom interrupted. "Skanky?

"Yeah, a total slime ball. I'm sure _**you**_ know the type," she said, sharing a knowing look with Sofia. "He had on this shirt that was unbuttoned down to here..." Kacey illustrated by running her fingers along the deep valley between her breasts. Grissom blinked once and hurriedly dragged his eyes back up to her face. "...and he wore this really huge stallion medallion. And, if that wasn't bad enough, he wore way too much cologne, waaaaaaay too much. Seriously, REAL men do NOT wear Old Spice, especially half a bottle at a time."

Grissom's brow furrowed thoughtfully as she continued her narrative. He was tempted to take notes on what she was saying for future personal reference and briefly wondered if she was speaking for all women or simply noting her own individual preferences. When the rest of the ladies nodded in vigorous agreement, he made a mental note to toss the bottle of Old Spice hiding in the back of his medicine cabinet.

"I swear to God, this weirdo spends more time with his blow dryer than I do," Kacey continued, her voice growing more strident as the memories of her brief encounter came racing back to her. "And not only that, but he used a ton of Concrete in a Can!"

Although he was not sure he wanted to hear the explanation, Grissom had to interrupt again. "Concrete in a Can?"

"You know...Aqua Net. Nobody has used that stuff since the Eighties mall hair days. He looked like...he looked like...like... a really creepy televangelist! With really bad hair." She bobbed her head sharply as if placing a physical exclamation point on her statement and looked around to the others for approval.

Grissom nodded his understanding, although he was totally lost. He would have to ask Sara or, better yet, Catherine, about mall hair later.

"Anyway, this dork was lurking out in the hall last night when we all were leaving and asked me out for a drink. I wasn't interested and I told him that, but he kept on pushing. Said he was only in Vegas for a couple of days for work and wanted to take some real memories back home with him, if you catch my drift. I told him I'm engaged," she declared proudly, suddenly moving in close and waggling a modest diamond ring in Grissom's face.

Sofia fought to smother a chuckle as Grissom lurched backwards, trying to regain some distance between himself and Kacey. He glared at Sofia, all but daring her to laugh out loud.

Still struggling to contain her merriment, Sofia took over the questioning to allow Grissom a little time to recover from Kacey's innocent invasion of his personal space.

"Your ring is lovely, Kacey. I'm very happy for you." Sofia waited a beat before continuing, "Can you tell me what happened next?"

Kacey stopped showing off her ring long enough to consider Sofia's question. "The sleaze wouldn't take 'NO' for an answer even after I showed him my ring. He just kept right on talking and asking me to go up to his room for a nightcap. Just when I thought things were going to start getting really ugly, Mitch, one of the Security guys came along and told the jerk to buzz off."

"You didn't happen to get this guy's name, did you?" Sofia questioned hopefully.

"Yeah, the slimy creep actually introduced himself. Marc Jennings. Said he is staying here and even gave me his room number but I don't remember what it is." She shrugged. "Sorry."

"That's okay, I can get it from Registration," Sofia said, turning to look at Grissom. "It can't be this easy."

Grissom merely shrugged and watched Sofia leave the room before turning back to the dancer.

"Ka-cey?" Grissom began patiently, his voice lilting up on the final syllable of her name in order to draw her attention from her preening in the nearest lighted mirror and back to him. "How do you know that Mr. Jennings used Aqua Net?"

Kacey smiled, a deliciously devious little grin. "Well, first of all, it has a really powerful smell. Nothing in the world smells as bad as Aqua Net."

Grissom's eyes were starting to glaze over as he continued to listen to Kacey's protracted explanation. He couldn't help but wonder if the young blond would change her opinion with regard to the aroma of Aqua Net if she was confronted with a ten-day-old decomp.

"Then, when he started getting really pushy, but before Mitch came along, I snatched that glass of nasty bourbon right out of his hand and poured it over his head. That, plus the smell, is how I knew it was Aqua Net. The bourbon just rolled right off and went down his collar...his hair never even got wet."

Kacey finally finished her rambling narrative and Grissom was preparing to dust the jimmied door lock for prints when Sofia called. She had found Marc Jennings sitting on the floor of his hotel room going through all of the purses he had snatched from the dressing room.

Evidently Mr. Jennings had spent the evening watching the burlesque shows and gulping down some liquid courage. He broke into the dressing room and took every purse he could find in a desperate attempt to find Kacey's address and cell phone number. He knew if he could just talk to her privately, without a security guard interrupting or the other girls hanging around. she would see what a stud he is and would agree to a quick roll in the hay with him.

"That's it, Grissom," Sofia concluded. "Case closed."

Grissom repacked his kit and pulled Cora aside to ask a favor. The director's eyes twinkled with delight as he explained what he wanted and she was more than willing to help. He handed her the small camera he had grabbed from his desk and set about collecting the items he needed to complete his portion of the hunt.

Thank you Edmond, indeed.

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Grissom was seated at his desk with his laptop open, scrolling through the remainder of the photos from his encounter with the showgirls. His entire call-out plus scavenger hunt item procurement had taken just under two hours and he was quite relieved to have his items turned in. He could turn his attention back to work and focus on more pressing matters.

He caught a glimpse of Sara leaning against the doorway and smiled gently. The burlesque dancers had been stunning but none had come close to matching Sara's understated beauty and elegance. He eased his laptop closed as he silently beckoned her into his office.

"So," he asked quietly, after she had settled herself comfortably in one of the chairs in front of his desk, "what's up?"

"Well I finished my report," she said, sliding it across the desk. She faltered slightly before blurting, "And, uh, I was wondering if I could borrow your Trigger ownership certificate for a little while." He saw her blush slightly at the odd request and immediately knew which of the scavenger items she had received.

"Are we bartering here?"

Sara shook her head, her hair swirling around her shoulders in a careless tumble. "No. I don't want to keep it. I just want to borrow it for a couple of hours."

"Sara," he began, unable to hide a mischievous grin, "if I give it to you without getting something in return, then the others can rightfully accuse me of favoritism or claim that I helped you. We have to play by the rules."

Sara huffed in frustration, mumbling, "Borrowing's within the rules."

"Okay, okay," she acceded with a mild grumble. "I'll rent the stupid thing from now until the end of shift. How..."

Her voice trailed off as Grissom's expression abruptly changed; he felt himself going from playful to upset instantly. How could she refer to something he held so dear as "stupid"?

"Stupid?"

Sara rolled her eyes, and he tried to ignore the higher than normal, indignant pitch of his own voice.

"You think my Trigger certificate is stupid?" He slowly shook his head, gracing her with a scathing look of disbelief and disapproval.

"Come on, Babe," she whispered. "You know I don't really think it's stupid. I'm just a little frustrated right now because you have what I need and you're messing with me." Sara paused and he thought he could detect the sincerity in her voice. "It's cute and sentimental, just like you."

Her response seemed to mollify him a bit and they shared a silent moment of intimacy before Sara returned to the subject at hand.

"Okay, then. Now that we have settled that, how much?" she sighed, shaking her head. "How much is it going to cost to buy my way out of this?"

He watched shift in her chair, unable to control the smirk that was spreading across his lips. He knew she was starting to get a little concerned that he would not agree and wondered just how far she would take this, just how desperate she was to get his Trigger certificate. "What do you have to offer?"

The look she gave him was one of confusion, not really knowing where he was going with this. "I have about seven dollars in my purse but I can go to the ATM if you..." Her voice trailed off as he started shaking his head and cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"I don't want your money, Sara," he interrupted, deliberately dropping the timbre of his voice. He casually adopted a more husky tone, one usually reserved for quiet moments at home. "What else are you willing to give me?"

Grissom could see her thinking, the way her forehead crinkled with concentration and the way her eyes drifted from her lap to him to his lap top while she tried to come up with another possibility. "What about...a full night together? No scanners, no pagers, no cell phones. Just us and the dog and the movie of your choice."

He shook his head slowly, rejecting her suggestion. "Since I make the schedules, that is something I would be doing for us, not something you would be doing for me."

"O-okay." She drew the word out, thinking. "How about you arrange that night off and I'll --" she paused, glancing out the open doorway to make sure no one was nearby, then dropped her voice slightly, "be your sex slave for the night. Anything you want, kinky or not."

"Sara, honey," he coughed slightly and lowered his voice, peering around her slim form to check the hallway. He wanted to make sure that Hodges wasn't loitering nearby to eavesdrop on their conversation. The last thing he and Sara needed was to become an even hotter topic of idle water cooler speculation.

Grissom cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck in an effort to stall for a couple of seconds and collect his thoughts. "You would do that anyway and enjoy it as much as I would, if not more." He punctuated the statement with a knowing look that made Sara squirm slightly and glance away from his intense perusal. "Again, that would be something for us."

"Weeeeeelllllllll," Sara tried again, dragging the word out for dramatic effect. "What about the reverse, then? I'll tie you up and you be _my_ sex slave for a night?"

"I would do that...if...you wanted me to," he said softly, a hot blush creeping slowly up his cheeks. Sara's eyes widened in surprise at his whispered admission and she gripped her knees tightly; her mind racing with possibilities and, as yet, unfulfilled fantasies. He looked down at his desk and fiddled nervously with his pager. "All you have to do is ask."

Hot looks tinged with lust and a little desperation passed between them as the air grew decidedly more heated. Grissom blew out a long steadying breath and hammered his libido back into submission. Several moments passed before he was able to speak calmly again, purposefully reverting into a more staid and clinical demeanor in order to finish the conversation with at least a little of his dignity intact.

"Your sexual favors and skills, while admittedly mind-blowing, sensual and very loving--each blessed with their own unique charms and flavors--are not the way to go this time."

A warm flush rose from beneath the scoop neck of her top to grace her cheeks. She was obviously pleased with the compliment, despite the inappropriate setting for such an intimate disclosure.

She shook her head sharply as if to remove a few cobwebs and tried to think of something else that might interest him. They definitely needed to turn this conversation back to something less...intimate.

"Okay, what about a tour of the Vegas coasters. We'll hit every one of them and I promise not to complain or get sick on you."

Grissom just raised a skeptical eyebrow, and shook his head. "Somehow the very real possibility of you depositing a regurgitated veggie burger in my lap tends to put a damper on that idea."

Sara's mind raced as she attempted to come up with another possibility. "Ummm...how about a night at the opera? Just the two of us? We can get all dressed up, go out for a ridiculously expensive dinner, and just hang out until the fat lady sings."

His head shake was more vigorous this time and Sara threw up her hands in exasperation.

"Sara, you know me better than anyone. Everything you are now suggesting are things Greg or Hodges could come up with. Use that beautiful brain of yours and figure out something that you and only you know I would enjoy. Something uniquely...I don't know..." he paused momentarily and used his fingers to make a set of air quotes and he spoke the last word, " 'Grissomesque'."

"'Grissomesque'." she smirked, trying not to laugh. "Is that even a word?"

He shot her a good-natured glare and started to respond when his page began to buzz. Grissom held one finger in the air, silently asking Sara for a moment while he checked his message.

"Trick roll at CircusCircus," he sighed, "Sofia is at the scene." He tossed the pager back onto the desk. "You want it or should I get someone else?"

He knew she was puzzled by his question as he did not normally ask them if they wanted to accept an assignment or not. He sought to clarify his actions by saying, "I have a feeling we're not quite finished with this conversation."

"Oh," she said, thinking quickly, "We'll just, uh, suspend it for a moment. I think a trip to CircusCircus might do me some good. Though I do wonder what kind of sicko would bring his 'trick' back to a family oriented hotel, and can't help but think that maybe he deserved to get 'rolled' for that."

She grinned at him briefly, then rose from the seat. "You keep that Trigger certificate handy. I'm sure I'll have the perfect trade figured out before the end of the shift."

He waved her off and reopened his laptop as she turned to leave. Before she fully made her way out into the hall, he left her with a parting shot. "Yeah, well, it better be something _**very**_ good to make up for that 'stupid' remark."

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Grissom was sitting at his desk, nursing a steaming cup of coffee and trying to force a thick stack of photos into a folder when Sara tapped lightly on the door frame. He looked up, set the folder to the side and beckoned her in, raising an eyebrow in question.

Sara walked briskly over to his desk, fairly bouncing on the balls on her feet with excitement. "Okay. This is my final offer, then I'm going elsewhere." Her grin was infectious and Grissom found himself grinning in return.

"Picture this." Her voiced slipped effortlessly into a rhythmic tale-telling cadence, hypnotizing him with her measured tones and soothing flow. "You and me, a day of freedom spent on an insect expedition. We can go to the park of your choice for a nice afternoon, strolling at an entomologist's pace, looking at everything that catches your eye. A nice picnic at sunset will attract lots of bees and ants for your enjoyment. Then we'll take out your spotlight and a white sheet and see what nocturnal fliers are drawn to the glow."

Sara paused but Grissom barely noticed. He was deep in thought, gazing vacantly across the room while considering her offer.

More than anyone, Sara understood and even accepted his fascination with all insects. As far as the rest of the team was concerned, dealing with "bugs" was simply another part of his job, another tool in his kit.

But Sara knew, had seen time and time again, how his face lit up with delight when he spotted a new insect fluttering around the porch light at night or discovered a spider scurrying across the bedroom floor. He knew that she shared neither his interest nor his love for the insect kingdom, but she accepted it without question, just as she accepted him. Yes, this would be the perfect trade.

He was drawn back from his thoughts when he noticed that Sara had started speaking again. "Same deal as before, no pagers and no cell phones to interrupt us. And..." he raised an eyebrow in question when she paused, apparently drawing the word out for dramatic effect. "I promise not to complain and to listen as avidly as when I was your student to anything you want to tell me about each and every insect we find. You can test me afterward if you want."

"Accepted," he said with a slow grin, unable to hide his pleasure. Sara had found the perfect trade and had made him an offer he could not refuse. Grissom carefully withdrew his Trigger ownership certificate from his desk drawer and handed it to her with a flourish.

Sara beamed as she looked down at her hard-won treasure. Grissom watched her, a warmth spreading through his chest as he watched her finger trace the writing on the small piece of paper. He knew that only part of her joy lay in securing on of the items for the hunt. The rest of that smile, the part that filled his own heart, came from him and the trust he had in her to share this physical representation of one of his treasured childhood memories.

He cleared his throat softly to get her attention, hating to end the moment but needing to just the same. "There may be questions as to how you managed to get this away from me. What are you going to tell them?"

Sara chewed her bottom lip, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered his question.

"I'll just tell them that I offered to log all of your evidence for the next month. I doubt anyone will actually take the time to check to see whether or not I really do it."

Grissom nodded thoughtfully.

She turned to leave, pausing when she heard him calling out to her.

"Sara?" he said softly, a hint of vulnerability is his voice.

"Anything I have is yours, you know that, right? No strings attached."

Sara briefly considered his words and smiled, a huge beautiful smile that lit up even the gloomiest corners of his dimly lit office.

"Yeah," she nodded, "I do."

He allowed himself a content little smile before returning to the mound of paperwork littering his cluttered desk. He might not have said the actual words but Sara understood. She always seemed to know what he could not seem verbalize and that was a far greater gift than a sunset picnic or hunting for insects.

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Sara discreetly nudged Grissom's shoulder with her own as they headed out of the lab for a quick bite to eat while awaiting some test results. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was behind them before murmuring in a guarded undertone, "You know, you didn't have to enjoy that so much."

"Enjoy what?" he asked, truly puzzled by her reaction. There was something in her voice that he could not quite place. "Showing up the guys and thus retaining my hard-won status as Alpha Male for another year or so?"

She thought about the items Grissom had turned in for the scavenger hunt and the photograph he had included as proof. He had a Western LVU bumper sticker and eleven other sealed evidence bags. Ten of the bags each held one iridescent star pasty complete with tassel. He had gone even farther by having each bag accurately labeled and signed by the dancer who had "loaned" Grissom that part of her costume.

The final bag held a glossy photograph of Grissom surrounded by ten voluptuous burlesque dancers; the dancers wearing nothing but a g-string, feather boa and one pasty.

Additionally, he had made sure to hand Judy his items while half the male population of the lab was standing in reception.

He bumped her arm to get her attention, flashing her a shy, playful smile before reciting,

"Star light, star bright

First star I see tonight..."

"No, no, you know what I mean," she said as she slapped him on the arm. "You didn't have to look so damn smug when you posed for those photos." Sara tried very hard to keep the petulance out of her voice but was not totally successful.

She knew deep in her heart that she had nothing to worry about. Grissom was wholly monogamous to the point that the mere thought of cheating on her was something that would never even occur to him. None the less, Sara was a woman, after all, and just a hint of jealousy managed to sneak out to harden her tone.

Grissom cocked his head at her, his face carefully blank as he handed her a folder he had tucked under his left arm. "The evidence never lies."

Sara looked at the front of the folder and glanced back at Grissom. She repeated the motion a second time before breaking out in a fit of unrestrained laughter. The front of the folder had been inscribed in Grissom's strong hand and Sara was laughing so hard she could barely make out the words.

"How to Remove a Showgirl's Tassel Without Getting in Dutch with the Wife" By Dr. Gilbert Grissom, Ph. D.

Sara paused a moment to catch her breath, her eyes riveted to the "wife" reference, before finally flipping open the folder. She was not certain what to expect; knowing Grissom it could be anything. He was not always adept when it came to sorting out the mysteries of the female mind, let alone figuring out how to deal with any type of emotion.

She was very curious as to what he thought he could possibly place within the folder to wipe out the momentary jealousy that had risen when he had proudly displayed his findings to be logged by Judy. He had been so pleased with himself for trumping the guys that she had half expected him to thump his chest in triumph.

Nestled within the folder were photographs, ten sharply-focused, beautifully reproduced 8x10 photos to be exact. Each print revealed Grissom collecting "evidence" from a different burlesque performer. Sara noted with a bit of envy that each of dancers was stunning, all were fit and beautiful and, well, stacked.

As she held up one of the photos to get a better look, something caught her eye and she began to grin – a small helpless smirk that rapidly blossomed into a full- blown smile. Sara shot him a look of amusement and pleasure, not quite believing what she was seeing.

Yes, her lover might be totally clueless when it came to dealing with other people, but he was finally learning where she was concerned. Closer inspection of the pictures revealed that Grissom had worn latex gloves and used a set of tweezers to liberate the tassels from their owners. She shook her head...only Grissom.

Grissom watched her smile, sighing softly in relief as he held opened the heavy door and ushered her out of the lab and into the brilliant morning sunlight. They walked to their cars, Sara still chuckling at his expense when he decided to go for broke. Fumbling a bit, his hand shaking slightly, he reached into his jacket pocket to slowly remove one last item.

Glancing around to make sure they were alone, Grissom hesitantly revealed his treasure. Sara's eyes widened as he dangled a set of shimmering star pasties in front of her, the gentle sway of the black tassels betraying his nervousness.

"Wish I may, wish I might,

Have the wish, I wish tonight..."

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Grissom glanced at his watch and realized that the shift was drawing to a close. The scavenger hunt participants had five minutes to complete their quests and turn their respective items into Judy. He stood up from his desk, indulged in a long stretch and ambled off down the hall to collect his box of treasures.

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	12. Finale

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_Coming full circle, __CSIClue_ _gives us insight into Grissom's master plan . What a long, Locard trip it's been._

Grissom looked at Judy, who glanced right and left around the reception area, then beckoned him around the big counter. She pulled out a cardboard box under her workstation, her voice low. "Here it is. I took the liberty of drawing up a checklist for you."

"Thank you, Judy," Grissom intoned courteously. "I appreciate that."

"No problem. It was fun," Judy replied shyly. "I felt pretty popular tonight."

Grissom gave her a soft smile, and she pinkened, pushing her glasses up and returning the expression. He picked up the box, glancing at it and added, "I'll check off who made it, and return the list to you, so if anyone asks, you can tell them, all right?"

"Okay, Doctor Grissom."

He carried the box down the hall to his office, shut the door and took out the neat printout on the top, scanning the names. Then, with his usual meticulousness, Grissom began unpacking the box, checking off items against the names, and noting with amusement, the times certain things came in. Apparently there were a few early birds, and a few folks just squeaking in under the wire. After a quick call to the morgue, Grissom was satisfied all in all, that his faith in his co-workers and team mates had paid off.

They were good at the hunt.

With a wry smile, Grissom sat back and thought of Locard, the man who'd inspired his little exercise. The fundamental maxim of the man's work came back to him: "With contact between two items, there will be an exchange."

Fitting then, that each of his comrades were about to receive their part now.

Grissom opened his desk drawer and took out a folder. Inside of it were ten copies of the same form, filled in and needing only a name, employee number and date on the remaining blank lines. Carefully, he filled in the blanks, feeling an inner warmth as he did so, page after page. When he was done, Grissom smiled.

The HR office was three blocks down from the lab; Grissom walked it, glad that he'd already made arrangements with his contact there. She buzzed him up from the lobby, and when he entered, she stood waiting, a round, impatient and amused little woman in a green pantsuit.

"If I didn't owe you so much, I would still be in bed at this hour of the morning," came her irritated greeting. "Okay, let's see this arrangement of yours, Grissom."

"Hilda—" Grissom smiled briefly. They moved to her desk and she opened the folder. For a long moment, she stared at the first sheet, then flipped through the others, her head nodding, slowly at first, but with more emphatic speed as she made it to the end of the papers.

"Oh yes! This is perfect, Grissom. This will get the Accounting office off my ass and help me get your leave down to manageable levels again. Yesss!"

"I thought it might," he nodded. "Not that I just . . . gave it away."

Hilda looked up, a smirk on her broad face. "You didn't! You really made all these people run their asses all over Vegas for this?"

"I did," Grissom admitted.

Hilda stared at him for a moment, then broke into a laugh, shaking her head good-naturedly. "Oh man! Whoever says you don't have a sense of humor doesn't know you, Gil Grissom! Tooo much! Okay, all I need now is your signature, releasing these thirty days from your accrued vacation time, and verifying that you are donating them to the parties listed on these forms and we are done. Oh, and for the record?" She paused and looked at him again, smirking, "I expect I'll be seeing you pull this off again in about three years, right?"

Grissom smiled, and picked up the pen.

End.


End file.
